My Dear Miss Watson
by bravehearttegan
Summary: Like Rex Stout, I believe that Watson was actually a woman, well no I don't, but it's fun writing her. AU Shorts, drabbles and the occasional series. Chapter 30, in which Watson hears much conflicting bedside advice and then realises a nurses lot is not an altogether happy one.
1. The Editors Office

Like Rex Stout, I believe that Watson was actually a women, (well no I don't, but its fun writing her.) AU shorts, drabbles and occasional series.

**Yes, these are the Miss Watson tales, nothing new as there are many other Stoutist followers out there and some amazing fanfiction in here, just not enough. Please see my acknowledgment list below.**

**This first short about sums up where the rest are going, not to be taken too seriously, so please don't flame me for being disrespectful to Watson's moustache.**

**I don't own anything based on Sherlock Holmes, the Doyle family own the lot, but I'd like to play with it all for a bit please.**

…

**The Editors Office of _The Strand _Magazine.**

Mr Greenhough Smith smiled benignly and then swung his chair to face the large window with its aspect over the city below.

_He refuses to face me, so whatever is to come will be highly uncomfortable_, I braced myself.

He coughed, "MissWatson," (the vocal emphasis was on my title.) "I am interested in your manuscript of course, detective stories are always popular, especially pertaining to a gentleman of character and breeding."

This was surprisingly positive; however I couldn't ignore the obvious misapprehension.

"I haven't quite detailed Holmes's background at all, of course that is deliberate, as I want to make him mysterious. But frankly Mr Smith, his background is a little uninteresting."

Smith swiftly turned his chair to face me, "yes, but it is quite clear he is well educated and has social standing. He also has advanced ideas, a clear role-model for our modern thinking readers."

I was exasperated, it was quite obvious he simply hadn't read my work at all.

"It wouldn't be accurate to describe Holmes as the sociable type, that's clear from the outset. He's not exactly a role-model either. This is a warts and all study Mr Smith, indeed I rather hoped that would make him different from the average protagonist."

Smith adopted that benevolent smile again, "then you should consider making him a little more moral Miss Watson." He stood and began to pace, "_The Strand_ has an increasing female readership that would appreciate a male character with high standards. Perhaps make him a champion of justice and not a mere paid freelance." He raised his hands in the air as if physically painting a picture, "Sherlock Holmes, the great detective. A guardian of all that is righteous, and protector of the common man." The air picture was finished with a flourish of his hands and a nod of the head.

This wasn't quite turning out how I predicted. "But Mr Holmes is unique, to alter the character would be to start a work of fiction. I'm documenting facts Mr Smith."

"Yes, we need to talk about that too."

"About facts?"

"Yes."

"What facts Mr Smith?"

He promptly re-positioned himself into his chair again and turned back to face the window. "I can pay for your scribbling Miss Watson, but to safely publish without the fear of censorship and moral indignation I need to make certain…" there was a long pause while I starred at the rear of his Seville-row suite. He then turned to face me, "changes need to be made Miss Watson and I am here to help you make them. You can of course trust on my support, I believe you can turn these detective tales into the chronicles of a legend."

…

The legend himself was sprawled across the sofa when I returned to Baker Street, making no attempt to raise or acknowledge my presence. An afghan obscured him almost entirely, except for a pipe, a dangling hand and a bare foot. How a man measuring over six foot could look so comfortable on a four foot piece of furniture defied physics.

"I say, are you here for the day Holmes? I was rather hoping on doing some writing."

The hand came up and vaguely indicated where my writing desk was situated.

"But it's rather difficult to concentrate; one's fellow lodger is lying about and filling our shared room with tobacco smoke." I opened the window.

"One's fellow lodger has the right to indulge in slovenly after actually paying the majority of the rent." The hand came up again, waiting. "Did you collect my messages?"

"Good little girl that I am, yes." I handed him the parcels, "McNeil's mixture of red paint, newspapers, tobacco and two books."

"And the chemist?"

"If you think I'll encourage you Holmes by fetching that filthy poison, then you're jolly well mistaken."

He looked up, head slanted, eyes always searching. "In a poor mood I see and also taken with a sudden need to write. Your left glove is stretched and the hair above your right ear has been considerably displaced. You have recently indulged in Turkish Delight, a somewhat expensive luxury considering your finances." He then pulled himself up and moved with surprising speed, simultaneously leaping over the sofa and ripping the parcel containing the tobacco. He quickly reached the mantelpiece, then filled the Persian slipper and lit another pipe. "You have had your writings accepted Watson, congratulations. However, I suspect there have been crucial changes."

"Yes, rather massively crucial changes."

He looked slightly worried, "you had to eradicate references to my monograph on the distinction between various tobacco ashes?"

"No, Mr Smith thought those rather whimsical. He was also delighted in your brain attic metaphor and your complete ignorance of the Copernican Theory, that chapter thoroughly amused him."

"Oh come now Watson, I do understand the movements of the Solar System, especially the moon. Indeed the varying fullness of it occasionally dictates the raise in crime due to its light or lack thereof."

"He also thinks you're an interesting character, though somewhat deficient in fundamental ethics. Oh don't look worried, I won't re-model you into an absolute seraph. You know this could make you rich and famous."

"I'm not interested in riches or fame, my work is its own reward."

"Tell that to Mrs Hudson on the first."

" What else did he edit? Are my deductive theories still detailed in fullness?"

"Yes it's all there."

"And my involvement with the case, despite Scotland yard reports?"

"Yes and your opinions of Lestrade and Gregson."

"Gregson yes, but do try to filter Lestrade's failings, he is rather useful."

"Too late, Mr Smith also thinks he's useful."

He sensed the irony in my tone, "…but not Watson?"

"Oh rather, Doctor Watson MD is the crucial voice throughout the narrative, its mostly in first person."

"You gave yourself a medical degree Watson? I entirely understand your bitterness in not being accepted into medical school solely on the basis of gender, but to claim a false degree is a little inane."

"I don't intend to claim anything Holmes. Doctor John H. Watson is the main narrative character in my tales. He's a Doctor, therefore people will trust his judgment and he's a man of character."

"A man?"

"Yes, he's a gentleman and a war hero; readers will have an immediate empathy with him. He has a respectable army career and a moustache."

"You are teasing Watson?"

"No."

"And Miss Jane Hillary Watson?"

"She's apparently 'inappropriate'. She's a woman, she's single, she's only a nurse and lasted less than a year in Afghanistan. She's a war cripple, which is an entirely unglamorous affliction for a female. She's done nothing of consequence but everything she should not. She shares lodgings with the bachelor character of her writings and that's rather scandalous, Mr Smith did not approve."

"You rent the room upstairs."

"You tell the good Christian readers of The Strand that, and then explain why I run about to do your bidding. Actually, it is rather scandalous…"

"I don't care what you are Watson, so long as you make yourself useful. Now go call Mrs Hudson for hot water, I need to shave." He threw himself back down on the sofa and tore open _The Times_.

"A slave is what you need Holmes. Stamford should have introduced you to a nice, former workhouse child instead of his respectable sister-in-law."

"Yes, well. When do we get paid?"

"_**We **_have been paid forthright on the one story and a promised advance on a series of six shorts after the first two."

"At least some good has come of this, admittedly at the considerable expense of facts. Well, well, perhaps the money will compensate for the lack of validity in your work Watson, not to mention your tendency towards the overdramatic. I shall look forward to this torrid little drama, infused with feminine romance and intrigue." He shook the paper and promptly vanished behind it.

"But there are facts and a considerable amount of description, far too much according to Mr Smith."

The newspaper quivered, "no doubt they will be irrelevant and barely adhering to the issue. You've probably written volumes Watson on the colour of a dress or the fashionable cut of a dinner jacket and barely given a passing reference to the true art of detection."

"You know, perhaps I should write this Doctor John H Watson a little more like your ideal fellow lodger. He could perhaps be constantly amazed by the magnitude of your genius, dazzled by your astounding abilities and indeed he could worship you like a god. He could take his little meagre writings and present them at the great temple of Holmes, to be inspected and then discarded as unworthy. Then he could occasionally shuffle away on his knees to write fascinating monograph's about cigars or mud splashes and make himself more worthy of breathing the same air as his deity."

"Capital idea."

Deciding I'd had quite enough, I turned to leave and fetch the water myself. "Yes and perhaps John Watson meets another long-suffering person, whom has recently inherited lashings of money and then he goes away and gets married. Yes, and he buys a nice practice somewhere in town, with a maid, a lovely garden and his own little dog and ..."

"Absolute twaddle Watson, why the devil would he do that?"

…

**Hope someone out there half likes this? Please review and stick with me, I've got loads of this stuff and I'm looking for a beta, please let me know if you can help?**

**I formally acknowledge other similar stories, '_The adventure of Little Cheatham_' by Sweetelysium is an unfinished gem, (you have to dig way backwards for this in the scary M section.) Also '_Found_' by WanderingChild96 is a wonderful sort of American high school Holmes and is satisfyingly still on-going. KylaRyan has 'drabbled' too and exceptionally well, her stories are worth the digging. Of course, there's the beautiful '_Where the Story Ends_' by PermanentNerd, who is wholly responsible for much of the above, as the up-dates don't come regularly and I find myself daydreaming all sorts of things…**

**Hay, please let me know if I missed any other similar fanfiction as I'm quite an addict?**


	2. Intellectual Eye

….

*******A Point on Which the Soul May Fix its Intellectual Eye**

Tonight was fast becoming my worst ever experience at a crime scene, I simply was not welcome. Indeed the usual atmosphere of male antipathy was now saturated with a distinct feeling of resentment, as through I had invaded a sacred temple. The air was thick with the stench of blood and rotting flesh, yet their revulsion was directed towards me and not the dismembered corpse.

No doubt Holmes was also aware of this, as he missed nothing in these places. That brain meticulously recorded and catalogued everything, from the moisture left by a breath on the window, to the garishness of Lastrade's new hat.

"Watson, her left hand, it was broken how many times?"

"Three at least Holmes, the damage to the Carpus and that index finger are obvious, though there could be more breaks and possible fractures. Of course a proper autopsy would give you more information.

"And the damage to the face?"

"Mostly on the left side, massive compact to the Zeugmatic and the Cranial Orbit, both fractured from a severe blow. Not with the blade that decapitated, but with something blunt and much heavier than a fist."

Holmes was back on in knees, crawling across the floor, "but she was not dead, merely stunned when the head was eventually removed?"

_Why did he want me to confirm that ghastly detail?_ "Those injuries could have caused considerable concussion yes, but in my experience human sprit can often prevail, feeding on mere adrenaline. She may have been conscious right to the end."

One of the four uniforms finally grunted openly, shook his head and mumbled "a nurse!"

"Oy Peterson, you anything to say?" Lestrade removed his new hat and dragged weary fingers through greasy hair as he glared at the policeman.

"No Sir."

"Aye, and you'll keep that trap shut if you know what's good. You're only ere to look smart my boy."

"Sir."

Inspector Gregson, who had been watching closely from the doorway, barked a laugh, which quickly turned into a smirk as he resumed his leering. I gave Lestrade a grateful smile, which was returned with the only true glimpse of goodness I'd experienced all evening.

"**Watson, focus!** I believe some of this is the murderers?" Holmes's right arm highlighted a whole series of blood stains across the floorboards and towards the door.

"Err yes, possibly, but we've both seen her fingernails, there must have been another weapon, something she grabbed and lashed out with."

"Agreed, but one the murderer retained as a souvenir."

Lestrade's little eyes began to dart about the room, "we've been through ere tight, though you could be right Mr Holmes, these new types like their trophies."

Holmes was now laying flat upon the floor, examining the stains with his lens, "a large blunt tool, definitely not sharp, possibly resulting in a wound to his mouth. I fear it belonged to the victim and it's almost certainly what caused the damage to her cheekbone and eye socket."

Gregson was now openly amused, "perhaps she coshed him with a parasol, or a silver purse, or some other little pretty the ladies like to carry. What do you think Miss Watson? What would a little lady like yourself use to bash a big horrible bloke in face with?"

I stopped myself short from announcing that I would have attacked his genitals instead, though I felt a sudden need to challenge them all, "you think it was a man who did this then?"

Holmes now looked up at me with palpable disappointment, "that was clear from the outset Watson. Observe facts, never let your personal crusade obscure reason." He moved to the centre of the room, "look at the strength, the wisdom, and the ability." Then he pointed to the largest piece of the dead girl, "as opposed to the desperation and inadequacy, it was no contest. Besides, his footmarks are twice as big as mine! Now wake up and be useful, or go stand outside and out of the way."

Peterson grunted again in approval.

…..

_*** **__**'Nothing contributes so much to tranquilizing the mind as a steady purpose - a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual eye.'**__**  
>Mary Wollstonecraft (Bloody interesting Victorian feminist)<strong>_

**Again, as I'm new to all this reviews are helpful **

**Will try and post my first ever Holmes drabble on Sunday, only I'll have to double check the spellings, (It's true, someone like myself can actually get LOADS of typos in only 100 words!)**


	3. She will Provide

…**...**

*******She will Provide**

...

"My position in Whitehall depends entirely upon constancy. I simply can't afford to have an infamous sibling, let alone a published one. It makes one conspicuous."

"It's rather late Mr Holmes, '_A Study in Scarlet'_ **is** in print."

"Nonetheless, I believe you have several more stories impending?"

"Which I've already sold. This is **my** employment and an opportunity to save for university fees."

"My dear girl, your head is still in the clouds. This is not a world that readily accepts females as physicians. No doubt Sherlock encourages you?"

"Yes. It appears we are both unconventional and obstinate."

"Unfortunately so."

...

* 'Trust in God - she will provide.'  
><strong>Emmeline Pankhurst<strong>


	4. That Snake Story

...

*** 'That Snake Story!'**

It was early in April in the year of `83 that I woke one morning to find Sherlock Holmes standing fully dressed, in the partially opened door of my bedroom, with a look of panic across his normally composed aquiline features. "Watson! Don't make me come in there and knock you out of bed."

"What the duce? Get out now!" I looked at the clock on the mantelpiece, "it's barely a quarter past seven… this absolutely better be a fire!"

"No it's a madwoman. It seems this young thing has arrived in a considerable state of excitement and insists on seeing me. Mrs Hudson was rather miffed at being knocked up so early and has simply dumped her in the sitting room. I presume you can calm her?"

"Why me, she's your client." I had pulled the bed sheets up to my chin in an attempt to recover my decency, but unfortunately only managed to expose my bare ankles and feet at the other end.

"You went to a school for young ladies and those places are practically full of hysterical females, you both should get along splendidly. Besides isn't it your duty as a nurse to deal with these people?"

"You just want me to get rid of her don't you?"

"No, if she's wandering about the Metropolis at this hour of the morning, it can only mean she has something pressing to communicate, this may prove an interesting case. But be a dear and sit with her, she may end up making a nuisance of herself."

Admittedly he did look rather pitiable, despite his newly scrubbed appearance and the clean collar. In many years of acquaintanceship I had come to admire Holmes's professional and logical approach to everything … except my own sex. Holmes had an aversion to women bordering on misogyny. Thankfully I had escaped his chauvinism, (I strongly suspect he somehow failed to register me as an actual female.) Indeed, my shamelessly exposed ankles were being especially ignored at that very moment.

"Oh very well Holmes, but this puts you in my debt."

"As always Watson. Now quick to it before she escapes," he started to loudly shuffle outside, "and don't waste time trying to look decent."

I half considered throwing a pillow at him as he retreated, but rapidly threw on my clothes instead, and was ready in a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. A lady dressed in black and heavily veiled was sitting by the window as we entered.

Holmes was rather unusually in good voice that morning, "**good morning madam**..." was all he managed to bellow before the poor dear promptly jumped and fell backwards in fright, landing flat on her rear and propelling her chair into the fireplace.

"I see that Mrs Hudson has been good enough to light the fire," was his only other comment as the chair proceeded to burst into flames.

...

* Sherlock Holmes, (after reading **The Adventure of the Speckled Band**_**, **_Strand Magazine,February 1892**.)**

**This update was fun to write as I basically just re-read '_The Adventure of the Speckled Band'_, (YAY, brilliant story) and wrote it from Miss Watson's point of view. So yes, I've copied small sections of it and twisted some of the meanings, (_shame_ on me.) **

**Sadly it makes more sense if you read the original first, but I certainly wouldn't expect people to do that, (although it's always good to re-read any ACD ) **


	5. Empty

...

**March 31st 1894**

How bizarre that a sudden smell can generate a profusion of memories and that one single sense should trigger all the others into recall.

That the mind can recollect in minute detail every distinguishing feature of a person instantly, and even remember the feel of his breath against your face.

But he is dead.

I smelt Holmes in the strangest of places today, an old Bookseller happened to fall against me in Park Lane. At that very moment I was in his presence, the intense aroma of tobacco and cinnamon, the taste of fine wine on my lips, my hand against the crisp wool of his coat, the sound of violins and the gleam of an emerald tie-pin against gray silk. I could sense his frustration, I understood his impatience.

It was the smell of a memory over three years old, yet it seemed so fresh.

...

**This was actually meant to be a drabble, but the story simply wouldn't behave :D **

****I'm afraid these tales are going to appear like the TARDIS, back and forth in time and totally unpredictable. I've had to start putting dates on them for my own benefit, (indeed, we are back in 1888 next week and will be forward to 1911 the following.) I'm sorry if you like your tales chronological, but I'm just not that type of writer.****


	6. Beating time to The March of the Women

**...**

*** 'Beating time to The March of the Women'**

_**Spring 1910**_

The cell was rather packed, resulting in some of us unfortunates having to sit on the damp floor. This in-itself was intolerable, however it was made doubly so as our lower height made us targets for Ethel Smyth and her occasional rallying whack on the shoulders. She had of course decided that our low morale could be somehow raised with continuous defiant singing. Our united rendering of 'The March of the Women,' accompanied by Ethel beating her shoe on the bars had been sadly dismal an hour before, but now it was fast becoming almost painful. How Ethel herself could contribute to such a massacre of her own music bewildered me, it was certainly not on par with her _Concerto for Violin and Horn _at the Albert Hall_._

I had half considered feigning a faint; this would have potentially given me a comfortable position on a bunk and also disqualified me from the singing, both being attractive prospects. However, as always my good conscience had won out.

How I had managed to allow myself to fall into this desperate position was the result of a sequence of well intentioned errors. The need to support my fellow women in a noble cause was the driving force. The fact that I had taken the purple and green sash and chose to symbolize the embodiment of past oppression by chaining myself to the gates of the very institution that had fraught my own academic advancement, had also been a noble cause. However, I had not taken into account the unpredictability of my colleagues, whereas I was prepared for a quiet and peaceful protest, they had loaded their handbags with bricks. That had been my undoing.

Ethel thumped again on my shoulder and I began to seriously re-consider the fainting option. However, thankfully our impromptu entertainment was cut short by the sudden opening of the main chamber doors and the advance of a plain clothes officer towards our cell. I immediately recognised him.

He knew my exact location, standing to his full height he ignored the insults and shouting, but smiled shyly at me. "There you are then. I take it you'd want a warning that he's arrived."

"That's kind of you Inspector."

"He's on his way down with Gregson to collect you and he's none too happy."

This bit of information instigated a whole series of protests and pleas from my fellow suffragettes. Ethel had begun a chant of "united we stand," which was just gaining momentum amongst the other inmates, when the main door slammed open and darkness entered the prison cells; then all went silent again.

He was immaculately groomed and expensively dressed; indeed it was the same suite he had worn at Buckingham Palace less than a month ago. He moved with refined grace of a black swan, scarcely aware of the neat row of packed cells on either side, focusing only on his objective. The grey eyes were like steel and bore down upon mine.

Then we stared at each other in complete silence.

"Err, Mr Holmes? … **Mr Holmes**, do you recognize any of these lovely ladies?" Inspector Gregson was following at his elbow and was now fully amused with his own sarcasm. "Because I'd appreciate it sir if you'd hurray-up and decide which one you want before they all start singing again."

Holmes said nothing, though his shoulders stiffened. Lestrade however gave an awkward cough and gently pushed past them both, unlocking the door and waiting politely as I slowly picked myself up. "If you'd just step this way Madam, we'll have you upstairs and out of ere in a jiffy. Now, now, none of that ladies, we don't want any more trouble from the rest of you. You'll all get your turn soon enough. Oy, watch-it, I'll have you on assault if you chuck that Miss."

"Ethel no, please put that shoe down," I stood between her and her proposed target. "Besides if you threaten the nice Inspector here your shoes will be confiscated, then there won't be a bean to drum a beat to or walk home on." I turned to face them all, "it's quite all right fellow comrades, I'll be fine. We live to fight another day ladies." I stood for the appropriate amount of time and fully appreciated the cheers and clapping, then I dutifully followed Lestrade through the doors. Holmes however suddenly turned heal and walked straight back, without so much as a word.

Gregson's high voice reflected his delight, "we'd better catch up with him before he abandons you entirely and goes home. And do hurry up Gregory, I wouldn't miss this for a months pay."

...

The front desk of Scotland Yard was crowded and exceptionally busy. It seemed that uniform, plain clothes, constable or officer, everyone had an excuse for being there and bless them, they all looked rather busy. In the centre of this stood Sherlock Holmes himself, still silent and seemingly unawares of the attention focused at him. As I approached Sergeant Peterson raised his voice considerably. "**Ah, ere she is Mr Olmes, caught up with ya she as. An ere's her things. All present an correct sir.**"

Dutifully the room hushed and people seemed to pause.

Holmes was impatient, "thank you Peterson, where do I sign?"

"Well now sir, I aint too sure. I ave ta ask the Inspector ere, wot with us relesin a extremely dangerous criminal an all."

Holmes calmly leaned forward and forcibly snatched the pen from the desk sergeant, then paused, as though considering exactly what to do with it.

Lestrade pushed Peterson aside and held the book forward, "the bottom line will do fine Mr Holmes. Of course you are familiar with the terms of the release, should Mrs Holmes break the law again, there will be consequences. Next time we may have to press charges. It's very lucky that she has friends willing to vouch for her, and if I may say, most of them are standing in this room. There's not a person here who wouldn't have been more than honoured to sign for her."

"However that privilege was kindly reserved for myself. Thank you gentleman. Watson this way."

"Err, there's one more thing Mr Holmes."

"What now Lestrade?"

"These ere Darby's which your good lady used to chain herself to the gates of Barts." Lestrade dangled the handcuffs before his nose.

"Yes."

"We've had to confiscate them. So we won't be tempted to use them for anymore protests eh? Funny thing though, had a pair just like'im myself. Would you believe, they went missing only a week last, can't think of where they went? Of course these beauties will do just fine, they even unlocked with my spare key, fancy that eh?" Lestrade paused, peeping around Holmes to get a better look at me. As he went on ruthlessly, I again re-considered the fainting option. "Only, I was wondering you see, if you could use your famous detective skills Mr Holmes, have a little look around and deduce where the other key to them might be? I suppose it would save me having to investigate where my last pair went, now I have these identical replacements."

I finally managed to find my voice, "no need Inspector. I think I left the key back home, it will be with you tomorrow."

That shy smile of Lestrade's returned to me like an old friend, "thank you mam."

"Yes, thank you Lestrade. Come along Jane."

Holmes grabbed my elbow as I turned to address the room, which meant I was forced to give my well prepared departing speech, whilst being gently manoeuvred forwards. "Thank you to everyone. The protesting was absolutely spiffing fun and you were all very kind to wait and not to just cut me from the railings. Sergeant Peterson, that cup of tea you managed was delightful and that blanket was lovely and warm too, thank you. And Inspector Gregson, I rather appreciate you bunging me in with the rest, we can't be seen to have favouritism and I…"

Then Holmes practically propelled me through the door with a, "**Watson enough!**"

...

We both clearly heard the united roar of laughter as the door closed behind us. "I say, slow down Holmes, my legs are positively stiff from cramp. Did we have to leave so quickly? I didn't get a chance to thank everyone."

He ignored me, marching ahead, "how could you Watson? I am disappointed, very disappointed."

"Oh, I know. I'm sorry."

"You stole those Darbys, I would never expect that of you, never! You've stooped dammed low." He stopped and turned to point a finger at me, "invading a chaps personal property is too far!"

"Yes I realise that, I promise it won't happen again."

"It certainly won't, my desk draw gets a new lock tomorrow. Those handcuffs were a pair of his new-style Backstraps, rare indeed and I've almost mastered picking them with your hairpins. ALMOST! Indeed, there was not pair in London I couldn't break, not until now and he knows it. You do realise it will take me at least another month to steal them back?"

"I said I was sorry. I'll make it up to you Holmes, honestly." I gave him my most alluring smile, the one I usually reserved for those late evenings when I was in direct competition with his chemistry set. It had, so far never failed.

He promptly ignored it and turned to march ahead again, "oh yes Jane, you will make it up to me and this very night. It's just a shame I no longer have Lestrade's handcuffs to give it a further _passion à l'état brut."*_

_..._

**Hope you enjoyed, please tell me if you did. Any typos or spellings please let me know and I'll correct ASAP. Thank you again to the six people who have so far admitted to reading my desperate scribbling, bless you and thank you for your reviews… it means a great deal and makes me want to write again **

****My aim over the next year is to bounce about in time, hitting random events that will lead up to this date. I doubt I'll go much past 1910, (well…. may-be just the odd story or two :)** **** I'd also like to apologise to relatives of Dame Ethel Smyth, whom I just had to pinch, because she was such a fantastic lady…**

* _**'**__Because I have conducted my own operas and love sheep-dogs; because I generally dress in tweeds, and sometimes, at winter afternoon concerts, have even conducted in them; because I was a militant suffragette and seized a chance of __**beating time to The March of the Women**__ from the window of my cell in Holloway Prison with a tooth-brush; because I have written books, spoken speeches, broadcast, and don't always make sure that my hat is on straight; for these and other equally pertinent reasons, in a certain sense I am well known.' _

_Dame Ethel Smyth_

(A brilliant & courageous Women)

_* __passion à l'état brut (French) = Raw Passion_


	7. Brothermine

**Brother-mine.**

...

July 1895

"You are both here because of impudence. I for one would rather disown any relationship with either of you; the benefits of such association are currently outweighed by the disgrace it brings. Unfortunately, as my name is coupled with yours in blood and now in print, I lack that luxury. Consequently I am endeavouring to salvage some decency." He waved his hand at Holmes as though he was a persistent wasp, then his full attention turned on me and frankly I shrank back. "I had once foolishly entertained some hope Miss Watson that you would eventually reform my brother. I now see that he has corrupted you also and in so doing has shamed us all."

Sherlock Holmes seemed unmoved, "come now Mycroft, don't be so dramatic. We surely haven't created a scandal that will reach Whitehall?"

"Whitehall has habituated your methods Sherlock, on the other hand the Diogenes Club is unaccustomed to such Bohemian ways."

"This is an emergency, we needed a safe refuge and surely the members understand our predicament?"

"We do have limits. You have escorted a naked woman onto the premises Sherlock, our members rules were not designed to foresee such bedlam." He looked at his brother and shook his head in resignation, "perhaps my real error was to discount your possible insertion into events when drawing up such rules?"

Mycroft had clearly taken the situation wholly out of context and this injustice gave me a little courage to contradict him, "As you can see, I'm not entirely 'naked' sir, I have a perfectly decent bed-sheet covering me." I attempted to straighten my back and raise my chin, but this only shifted the said bed-sheet and I was required to thoroughly inspect myself for resulting exposure. Both brothers also scrutinized me; however Mycroft's gaze seemed to linger on my feet far too long and as I politely coughed his head snapped back upwards.

"The fact that it is a bed-sheet madam, merely re-enforces our member's low assumptions of your morality, and being made of American cotton it can not be considered 'decent', Egyptian Linen would have been preferable."

"I had no alternative sir, your brother gave me dashed short warning. I'd just started to change from my disguise and he bursts into the room, choice and quality were not at the forefront of my mind."

" I was being chased by an axe murderer Watson, the fellow wasn't about to wait for you to finish dressing. Indeed it was fortunate I was able to get us both out of that Hotel entirely whole and not in little pieces."

"But you could have then taken her home Sherlock, not landed her here."

"Where can one quickly find a safe cab at this hour of the morning Mycroft? And in the intervening time, what am I supposed to do with a pursuing axe murderer and Watson in her bed-sheet humm? Your club was a mere 200 feet from our predicament, my judgment was sound."

"But why that particular Hotel? You are fully aware that the establishment has a rather dubious reputation in this area. Allowing Miss Watson on the premises is unpardonable, letting her parade about in a state of undress …"

"Your brother does not keep me sir, nor tell me how to conduct myself." I had risen in a state of indignation and was about to storm out, but Holmes firmly pushed me back into the leather cushions.

"Don't leave until your clothes arrive Watson. Actually please try not to move at all," he gently pulled the bed-sheet upwards to cover my bare shoulder. "They are clients Mycroft, willing to pay for Watson and myself to solve a little problem."

"I would hardly call your axe murderer 'a little problem,' it has taken several of our staff and two police officers to subdue the brute and arrest him. No matter, this state of affairs must not continue. Indeed, you are both far too old to allow this to happen again and what can once be excused as frivolity of youth is simply now misjudgement." Mycroft pulled a chair from behind the huge oak desk and placed it with great formality before us. Then he slowly seated his massive form, (surprisingly without any damage) into its delicate confines. "As your elder brother and the only member of the family to inherit any common sense, and my dear as you are lacking a guardian of any sort, I feel obliged to act in your mutual interests." He looked so solemnly at us, that for a moment I suspected there was a something boarding on affection in his eyes. 'It is high time that you both got married. I can of course quickly arrange a license to be ready for Monday morning, I think St James would be best as the pastor is a member of this club." He looked sideways at me, "you may then parade about naked with my brother as much as you want and perhaps some good will one day come of it."

This time Sherlock Holmes stood, red faced and in a considerable state of aggravation, "pray-tell, do we not have some choice in this matter? Perhaps you have overestimated your abilities when you claim to have us both married by Monday morning? After all you must find someone highly noteworthy for Watson and also some unfortunate individual that is willing to saddle herself to me, no small task brother-mine."

...

_***Brother-mine, was pinched from Jeremy Brett's portrayal. Also, acknowledgments go to the BBC 'Sherlock', because I nicked that lovely bed-sheet scenario and kind of twisted it. **_

_**Sadly I'm now finding fun in 'twisting' most things to fit in with these little warped tales... sorry to ACD purists, but Miss Watson is never going to make absolute sense in time and place, though I will try harder...**_


	8. The Adventure of the Red Dress part 1

**The Adventure of The Red Dress.**

*(A continuation of Brother-mine.)

…

… the next day.

The second half of a nice bottle of Lafite Rothschild was sitting rather enticingly on Holmes' side of the room and I felt some empathy with its abandonment. Indeed, wine of that quality needed rescuing and I merrily filled a large glass, telling myself I was doing the world a service by clearing away the unwanted leftovers of careless men.

Three unopened telegrams from Mycroft lay on the table near the fire, there had been no sign of Holmes since early breakfast and it was now a quarter past 8 in the evening.

Drinking alone was not considered appropriate for a young lady, however for years I'd flirted with scandal by sharing a house with Holmes, so this drinking frenzy was a mere confirmation of my total ignominy and I raised the glass at my latest affront. I was nearing the end of that glass and just drifting into a pleasant sleep when my right ear began to speak to me:

"Watson! Are you very drunk? I'm in need of a woman."

"Humm… what?"

"I need you, please wake."

"Holmes, what the devil?" I sprang from the chair and felt his arms hold me before I almost fell flat faced into the floor. "No, don't try to be gallant! I can stand quite well thank you." His look of pure innocence did little to lighten my mood, "where have you been? I've had a rotten day and it's left me in a jolly bad mood. Your brother seems to think we will be wed tomorrow and no-doubt wants to confirm some of the particulars, these things keep arriving." I pointed to the array of telegram's and then the parcels by the door. "Oh and there's a bunch of roses for me from the Earl of Rosebery, how the Prime Minister of England knows about my hypothetical wedding bewilders me." I grabbed at my wine glass and finished off the last dregs. "We have to stop Mycroft or apparently most of Whitehall will be at St James without us, all with their wives in new frocks and I'm certainly not going to have heaps of people in church under false pretences again, not after your funeral." At this point and for some incomprehensible reason I burst into tears, Holmes ignored me and began to steer us both towards his bedroom.

"Now is not the time to go all female on me Watson, I need you."

The look of sheer desperation in his face made me even more miserable, I tried to pull away but he swung me forward and I was pushed into his room from behind. Naturally, I responded with an elbow to his stomach.

"Ow!"

"Well stop it, I'm not a trolley. Oh dear… I feel quite sick."

"Christ Watson, pull yourself together."

"Why, what is it you want? Where's the bloody emergency?" I took several deep breaths.

"The emergency is ten minutes by cab," he was now in his wardrobe and rummaging amongst fresh shirts, flinging them into the air and onto the floor. "It's a case. I'm almost there Watson, I do believe this one will take me less than a day to solve! I just need a prostitute, a convincing one which negates me asking Lestrade's men." He held up a tattered old red dress then shoved it into my hands, "you however, will fit the bill splendidly. We'll get you set up at Rigby's place, the girls regularly work the place." He was speaking so quickly it was difficult to comprehend, the energy radiating from him and his hands almost a blur as more clothes were pulled from the drawers. A balled sock shot over his shoulder, as I ducked it sailed past my head and out through an open window, disappearing into Baker Street below. "Of course I'll wonder over and proposition you; I'll be a drunken sailor. Then for a reasonable percentage of your fee we can both get into the accommodation area, I believe the Landlord has a set price. While you pretend we are copulating, I'll do a thorough search of all the bedrooms." For just a second he looked upwards rather shyly, "you'll only have to groan a bit and jump on the bed."

"Holmes, this is not going to be repeat of last night is it? Frankly, I can't afford to be seen wearing next to nothing again, especially outside another brothel. Your brother was right; I have what is left of my poor reputation to…"

"AND I have reason to believe they are keeping innocent children there Watson, two missing eleven year old girls to be precise. Ah, here it is…" he waved a red and black lace corset in the air as though it where a trophy.

"Is this going to be dangerous?"

"Yes very, would you rather stay out of it?"

"Absolutely not!"

"I thought I knew my Watson, good girl."

"Are the children being forced to work?"

"Not yet, I don't think it's gotten that far. However we must move fast, the theatres and bars will empty in less than three hours. Here, you'll need far too much make-up."

I grabbed the corset and then tried to juggle the various bottles he kept piling into my hands. "What are we going to do about your brother Holmes? He's convinced..."

"Mycroft can go to hell."

"Humph, no doubt he's sitting rather nicely at his club right now, it's me who's hell going tonight." I looked pointedly at the corset and then held it back out to him by its leather laces. "I'm not too sure I can get this thing on without some help, do you suppose Mrs Hudson's still up?" As he pushed past me and ran into the hallway, a sudden thought crashed through all the others, "Holmes, why do you have a red dress and this shockingly indecent corset in your wardrobe?"

…..

* Please note that the title has been changed to fit in with a mini-series.

**Poor Watson, she's bound to end up in trouble again. Will she ever make it to the alter by Monday? (Even I don't know that one?) Methinks this AU Mrs Hudson will still be wide awake and she won't even question why Watson is wearing such a 'shockingly indecent' corset. **

**Any typos… please let me know. I do love reviews, but sadly far more readers have Miss Watson's tales on story alert than have actually reviewed, which means I must be doing something right?**


	9. The Adventure of the Red Dress part 2

**The Adventure of The Red Dress (part two)**

It transpired that 'Rigby's place' was in reality a public house called The Green Dragon, the proprietor being a Mr Rigby, though Holmes described him as more of a gangland mastermind than an actual Landlord.

Holmes had arranged for a fellow called Thomas and his Hansom cab to drop me off, the fellow had insisted on escorting me to the door and assuring me of his presence outside should I need help. Self-consciousness in such a striking dress, I had expected a reaction as I entered, however the room was far too busy for anyone to notice, the occasional glance was all I received. As directed, I walked straight to the bar and ordered a gin, then quickly returned to the door, finding a solitary seat that afforded an opportunity for escape and also anonymity.

I was to be a lone worker, sitting and holding the gin apparently indicated I hadn't started taking customers immediately, but I was certainly open to offers. Holmes was to give me a moment or two and then casually stroll over and pay for a nights work. That was the plan.

It took very little time to realise that the house was actually a den of open derogation and an absolute cesspool of social interaction. There was a constant exchange of vice; stolen goods were being pulled out of sacks, alcohol was actually being consumed directly from the bottle and a verity of women, (including on this occasion myself,) sat either on offer, or on someone's lap.

I am aware that 'the great social evil' is heavily practiced in London and increasingly so, as there are fewer respectable jobs for single women. I myself had been three times lucky, before my earnings as a writer I had a meagre allowance from my fathers estate and more significantly I had found shelter at Baker Street. However, some are ruined or survive literally at the hands of unscrupulous men, resulting in the unfair condition commonly referred to as the 'fallen women.' There is a lack of tolerance for such unfortunate individuals afforded by society, resulting regularly in women being forced into prostitution as a profession.

Holmes may consider me naive, but this particular injustice was my own personal disquiet. My research into the ill treatment and social disease's that festered through such a lifestyle is fairly considerable. Whilst serving as a nurse in Afghanistan, I had encountered in several soldiers the by-product of such indulgence, namely Syphilis and Gonorrhoea, therefore I know how debilitating these infections can be. More recently, I have gained considerable knowledge by offering assistance to local working women. Lestrade and his colleagues have unofficially sent for me to treat girls on numerous occasions, mostly minor beatings or various burns. Peterson once turned up half carrying a young thing barely older than a child, she was covered in whip and bite marks, (such perversion I am told is commonplace.)

There had been some attempt to control the spread of unhealthy disease by the introduction of the Contagious Disease Act, which typically targets the women and protects the men. So far no attempt has been made to reduce the beatings.

"How much?"

"Pardon?" Obviously I had been so carried away recounting my own research, that I hadn't quite noticed his approach.

"Eh? Ere's guilt, take it women." The coin was tossed at my table by a portly red haired gentleman in a threadbare suit. His fat little hand grabbed at my shoulder.

"I say, let go at once!"

"Shut it. Oy, stop that bitch!"

"Remove that hand or god-help-me I'll have your eyes out."

"Wots yor game?"

"My game sir is not with you, now unhand me or I'll…"

I was suddenly stopped short by an extra hand grabbing my opposite shoulder. I turned sharply and was shocked at the closeness of this new assailant, his thick beard almost touching my face, the smell of rum and rotten fish momentarily overpowering me. He hooked his arm around my waist and slurred "this ere 'game' is mine ginger, clear off."

I had the distinct feeling of having moved out of the pot and into the fire. "Now wait a moment, I don't belong to either one of you gentlemen."

The bearded fellow pushed his face forward and whispered in my ear, "for god's-sake Watson, do stop shouting with a girl's school accent. You'll either get yourself kicked out or get mobbed by queues of customers."

"Yes, well..." I collected myself and addressed the red haired fellow. "I wos with this ere fella first gov. Tis'a pitty eh."

"Bloody dolly-mop. Ere, where's ma brass?"

Well aware that my accent was boarding on derisory I lowered my voice instead, "well sir, if you throw your money what do you expect. It's probably fallen under the table. You do realise, that was definitely not a fair transaction, nor was it a fair price."

Holmes tried to push me back into my chair, "leave it."

"No, I object to this fellow's attitude and certainly on the amount he is prepared to pay. A shilling is surely not taking into account time, exertion and the effort needed to conceal the grossness of his apparel. Besides, how am I to be certain of his clinical health? Has he given assurances that he will not pass on anything contagious ? Sir, are you disease free? Have you any sores, scabs or lesions around the…"

"I said shut it!"

The red haired fellow quickly scurried away.

"No, you told me to 'leave it,'" I abruptly sat. "Besides, that got rid of him rather effectively. Holmes, you should see what goes on in here. It's only been about five minutes and I've already witnessed several thieves selling their takings and at least two assaults. There's a couple over there openly engaged in carnal acts."

Holmes lowered his voice to a whispered hiss, "we have higher objectives tonight Watson. The lives of children are at stake, now behave!"

"Oh please, I'm well aware of the stakes, but I don't have to like the situation. For once just tell me exactly what to do, all this vagueness may add to your theatre, but frankly in this dress I need a bit more reassurance."

"Try to act in character and stop talking." He pulled some money out of his grubby coat pocket, "give the man behind the bar this and he should give you a crown back, don't challenge him as you're an unknown and he's gambling on your skills. Let him see you pocket it reluctantly and look disappointed, if you're being honest with him, he'll not suspect anything. You needn't talk, if he asks 'how long' shrug your shoulders, he'll understand and may advise you to hurry matters. He'll also give you a room number." Holmes then moved away and raised his voice to normal, "I've paid my dab now go to it women."

…

The corridor leading from the rear of the bar area was rotten with damp, this old building was part of the dockland area and it obviously lead to the banks of the Thames. The floor-boards creaked as we hurried along, Holmes kept stopping and testing them and then mumbling to himself. The noises that filtered through the fragile barriers of walls and doors were brutal; there was nothing tender about the acts they concealed. As we neared our room, there were a violent sound of flesh being slapped and a cry of pain, Holmes stopped for a moment, then shook his head and urged me onwards. The sound of groaning that followed was thankfully lessened when he opened a door and he pushed me through it.

Inside faired little better than out, it was more akin to a store-cupboard than a bedroom, with a crude wooden cot. The linen was dirty and there was a stale musky smell that indicated pervious use.

"Do I have to actually sit on that bed?" I whispered. In response Holmes took off his coat, pulled out a large bundle that he had concealed under his arm and placed both over the sheets, he then pattered the surface of the coat invitingly. I sat and as previously arranged, dutifully began to bounce, producing some satisfyingly loud bed squeaking noises.

Holmes went into a sudden flurry of activity, searching the room, pulling the window open then hanging out and then minutely examining the door and its lock. He held out his hand, fingers wiggling and without missing a bounce I rummaged about in the bundle until I found his magnifying glass, I threw it and watched as he plucked it from the air and bent down again to re-study the lock.

Suddenly we were both momentarily distracted by the loud panting and colourful phrases from the room next door, obviously another client had come to a crucial point in the proceedings and was building to a conclusion. Holmes looked at me and waved his hands in encouragement, it was clear that I was expected to contribute to this assortment of sounds. Frankly I was momentarily at a loss, never having had occasion to produce such noises. "Give me a moment to think," I hissed and set to observing and selecting appropriate examples.

Meanwhile Holmes had stood and he began pacing, he kept shaking his head and peering out the window, clearly something was wrong. He then rummaged through the bundle and removed a leather scroll containing skeleton keys and a small bottle wrapped in white cloth.

"Ten minutes, no more, do you have a pocket watch Watson? Good, if I'm not back, it's out of that window and into the water, try to navigate towards the front of the building, via the rafters and the mud bank. Thomas will be waiting. Don't swallow the water."

"Holmes…"

"No arguing, you must leave me here if you have to?" He smiled rather sadly, "I do believe the girls are being kept in the attic room at the front, if I get an opportunity I'll lower them to Thomas and have them gone. We will both then try our luck alone together, so prepare for a swim and a long run afterwards. Listen out for the loose floorboards, it will give you advance warning of movement. You had better remove that dress, I'm afraid it's another dash in your undergarments again."

"Holmes it's not going to be that simple…"

"But it is Watson, they have their guard down and are clearly not expecting a rescue. Indeed, I calculate that the children's liberation will be straightforward, it's your getaway that will be challenging."

"Holmes..."

"Shhh, don't worry. Now be a good girl and make some encouraging sounds and do try to shout a little, I need to drown out the noise of the door opening."

"It's going to be more than the door that gets bloody drowned tonight," I grumbled. Then I cleared by throat, (as I often did before singing.) "Yes, yes, yes, YES! Oh yes. Again please, more, more, oh god yes. Harder, harder, harder! **Go on then!**"

Holmes looked at me oddly; he noticeably swallowed and then almost ran out of the room.

…..

_Totally written without a BETA, so if you see a typo please let me know._

_Sorry about the irregular posting. I do hate writing chronologically and I so look forward to going back to posting stories in time TARDIS fashion. However I need to get this short series over! It will end up being a series of six stories in all, (I've got another 3 to post.)_

_Please re-view as it makes me feel guilty and encourages me to get my act together._


	10. The Adventure of the Red Dress part 3

**The Adventure of The Red Dress (part three.)**

The Green Dragon was particularly busy during those ten minutes, indeed Mr Rigby's purse must have been considerable indeed, gauging by the traffic across those squeaky floorboards. I could make no sense of it, and as I sat half-heartedly kicking the mattress and grunting the odd noise, I marvelled at Holmes' ability to distinguish one step from another. Then, just at the mark of nine minutes, there came a set of rapid footsteps and by the character in which the door was opened, (almost removing the hinges,) I knew it was him.

"We've no time to talk Watson. The girls are free. However, I've two fellows' about to rouse upstairs and only five minutes to swim to Guilford's pier to rendezvous with Thomas." He perched himself on the windowsill and started to rapidly remove his boots.

"Oh, we are definitely swimming then. How far is this Guilford's pier?" I tried to examine the landscape through the evening dimness behind him, but all I could perceive was murky water.

"The third building on the right, it's the only reliable docking on this stretch. Now, I'll go first, once you're in follow me, it's not too far but stay close."

"But Holmes…"

Ignoring me he spun about, leaned forward and was gone with a splash. I checked to see his progress and was relieved when his sleek head instantly popped up and bobbed on the surface of the water.

"Watson, do hurray up."

In a moment of sheer annoyance I considered turning and walking out the door. Indeed, I sat on the windowsill and contemplated the odds of my survival should I make a dryer escape independently.

Holmes was habitually consumed with his own strategies, especially during the solving of a case and that made it somewhat difficult to negotiate anything. Often, even talking to him was strictly forbidden and I would be expected to wait quietly until required. During these times he delighted in unveiling the unexpected, both to himself and his audience. I had long suspected he deliberately added drama to such occasions, as an actor would at the climax of a performance, to transform his work from a mundane case and into a sublime work of art. I also feared that the effort required to produce such art was not without risk and his blood needed the resulting adrenaline rush. It was an exchange of natural chemicals that raced through his veins and kept his body at the same speed as his mind.

However, he had not consulted me in this particular business, nor considered my desires.

Then, I suddenly realised that it had been some time since my wishes or even my comfort was considered in any of his investigations. It would have been pleasant to conclude a case without running, to have a civilised conversation with adversaries, or a civilised exit from a building, even occasionally wearing ones own clothes and not just undergarments would have been an improvement. I looked at the abandoned red dress and felt some sympathy with its neglect. It had been ill used and would now be considered too old and worn to be respectable.

"Watson."

It occurred to me that perhaps Mycroft was right; I had once shown some promise, but too much association with his brother had also left me addicted to the thrill of the chase. Although admittedly, when the 'game was afoot', it was frequently us doing the running.

"**Watson?**"

"Give me a moment."

"We have no time for your foolishness. Get down here now!"

"I don't swim."

"What!"

"I said** 'I don't swim'**." I turned and mumbled to myself, "I never learnt you see, there was never any need."

His reply was drowned out by a tremendous crash from the room above. The ceiling seemed to rain dust and debris; this was soon followed by loud shouting and the slamming of doors. I froze in a moment of uncertainty, listening to the mounting pandemonium and unable to move. Soon there was screaming, as each room along the corridor was opened and the occupants were disturbed. The sounds where getting louder.

"**WATSON!"**

I sprang forward locking the door.

Before they reached me, I had turned, ran to the window, held my nose and jumped…

…...

_This was meant to be much longer section, but sadly I couldn't resist leaving at this point :D_

_Anyways, the forth instalment will be up soon._

_There are of course the usual apologies about any typos and pleas to let me know so I can make changes. Besides, feedback is always wonderful._


	11. The Adventure of the Red Dress part 4

**The Adventure of the Red Dress (part four.)**

Once I hit the water I remained motionless, I had assumed that most objects which enclosed air floated and I would promptly pop right back up to the surface as Holmes had done. Indeed, as I slowly descended into the dark coldness, I eagerly awaited that turn of events. However I was to be gravely mistaken, for it soon became apparent that my body was being sucked downwards into the blackness below and there was to be no upwards motion at all. It was then that my common sense sadly deserted me and I was consumed with fear. My body began to impulsively thrash at the water in a vain attempt to bring myself aloft, but unfortunately not knowing which way was up, it became a mere futile effort. The current kept mischievously flipping and turning me, allowing only a glimpse at the sky, but that clear light came in flashes and only confused me more. I could feel my head pound and my ears burn as my body protested against the trapped air and my lungs were squeezed smaller by the pressure of release. I tried to scream, but only bubbles left my mouth, making room for the river to enter and ferociously gag at my throat.

Something was pulling violently at my hair and as I reached out to free myself, my arm was suddenly snatched and twisted forward. Then, mercifully I broke onto the surface.

I was absolutely terrified; the cold air hit me heavily and my lungs and body where now deadly tried. Still, I managed to lash out frantically in the vain hope of keeping myself buoyant. It all ended when I was hit quite hard across the face. Momentary stunned, I froze and allowed my body to sink back down. Then I was pulled sharply sideways.

"For christ-sake Watson keep still! Do you hear me, still, don't move."

"Holmes…"

"Keep still!"

"Can't swim…"

"I know. I have you."

Moments seemed like hours as he dragged me across the surface of the water, barely keeping us from the river. Occasionally he stopped as the current proved to strong to fight against and then we just followed the river's direction. Eventually he gave a last spurt of energy, clawing at the water and all the time holding my chin above it. We hit the mud bank with a thud and Holmes immediately began pulling me out and across it. Just when I felt the slight joy of land, I realised we were sinking into it.

"Move quickly Watson."

"But…"

"Quiet, we have to get out now. Here take my hand."

"I… I'm not able."

"Just crawl and keep your mouth shut, this mud is partly sewage."

We managed a slow but steady assent of the riverbank, I was lagging behind but he kept pulling at my arm and then carried me the last few meters until we reached a damp grass verge. We both lay for a moment gasping heavily and then he pulled himself up from the dirt and turned on me.

"Sod-it Watson, don't you ever do that to me again. Never!"

I couldn't answer, still couldn't find a rhythm in my breath.

"You stupid fool! What the devil were you doing down there? You could have killed yourself." He was now crawling over the mud and hitting at its surface with his fist. "I should never have taken you anywhere after all that wine; you are always the same after alcohol." He had the decency to pause his ranting until I'd finished coughing out mud and water. "You didn't tell me. Didn't bother to mention that crucial bit of information did you? Did it just slip from your empty head?" He threw his hands into the air, "oh and then it's '_I don't swim_', just like that! What a damadable time to tell me. You're a sodding idiot Watson, I sodding bloody idiot and no mistake!"

"Sorry, I did try," I gasped.

He was now looking at me in horror, "it was supposed to be a quick swim along the shore, a few strokes at least. What the devil where you doing down there?"

"Trying to swim."

"You are supposed to do it on the surface, not sodding six feet below, I almost lost you… completely lost you." He grabbed hold of my shoulders tightly in an effort to stop us both from shaking violently, "don't ever do that again."

"You hit me."

"I know and I'm not entirely proud of myself, but you were thrashing about like an eel. I had no choice."

I felt the side of my cheek, "still hurts."

His grip loosened, "Christ, I'm sorry. Don't look at me like that, you scared the hell out of me Watson and I don't like it." He turned away from me and I waited a moment until my breath steadily returned.

"It's alright Holmes."

"No, it's certainly not alright; we'll talk about this later. I need to get you out of here or the cold will kill you. Can you see the pier?"

I tried so hard to find my voice again, "no."

"Then just follow and don't disappear this time, we can walk along the bank. Come now, I've no more strength to carry you."

"Of course, just give me a moment." I looked down at myself to assess the damage and realised that my French white cotton and lace drawers were now almost transparent, it was such a shocking display of flesh that I dared not look at my chemise. My leg seemed stable enough, however both wounds were now throbbing, especially the shoulder and as I pulled myself into a standing position, I lifted my chin and braced for the pain. "Which way?"

He dragged himself up after me, reaching for my arm and then my hand. I felt a moment of complete warmth as I looked at our laced fingers and then I fell forward and remembered nothing more…

…...

_I'd like to make an acknowledgement to _**PermanentNerd**_ and state that this chapter__ is clearly a tribute to her wonderful work, (Ignorance/ Chapter Seven.) I took the liberty of playing about some more with Watson and water. _

_I hope one day to see that work finished._

_I'd also like to have the usual moan about this probably being full of typos, please feel free to spot them and let me know. I'm trying to post once a week while I'm on holiday... so far so good :)_


	12. The Adventure of the Red Dress part 5

**The Adventure of the Red Dress Five. Fever.**

Back in the desert again; the heat is unbearable.

_There has to be shelter somewhere? _

The military tents are set in orderly little rows, once white and now covered in sand and blood; their neatness set at odds with the surrounding chaos of bodies that litter the ground.

_Step over them and avoid looking into their eyes._

All is so still, only the occasional movement from someone half dead and left to rot in this heat or the flutter of birds that come for the raw meat.

_What did you expect my dear, a birthday party?_

Something's starting to pull.

_It's pulling at that silly uniform sweetheart, just rip it off. _

So much fabric, it's just wrapping.

_They've caught you! _

The corpses are pulling, hands on bare skin pulling, bloody faces and rotten teeth pulling...

"Watson!"

_You know that voice. _

"Watson, do try to keep still. Stop it!"

_How can a voice have so much power?_

…teeth like little needles, biting...

"Mrs Hudson, will you keep those legs down. Sit on her if you must, I'm almost finished."

… _don't trust him, find a bloody tent_.

"Quick women the bowl, she's going to vomit."

_Steady Watson, people are watching, don't let them see any weakness._

…

Christ, it's not even cool inside.

_It's essentially the canvas trapping heat, a tent needs good ventilation Miss Watson, proper ventilation. Mark my words, the ministry will jolly well hear about it…_

Cooking alive in this oven, pouring sweat like dripping off meat.

_Traps the insects mam, look at them crawling, see. Smell the blood for miles they do._

"Yes, they use the wind sergeant."

"Shhh Watson, you're safe."

"They're laying eggs."

"It's alright."

"Everywhere."

"Not here Jane, you're safe."

…

A sudden plunge into cool water…

_Can't breathe,_

"Can't swim."

"I'm here. I have you."

"Holmes_."_

"It's alright old girl, I have you safe."

"The river…"

"No Jane, just a cold bath, you're boiling alive. Please keep still… we need to cool you down."

_Nothing but ice coldness, you made a mistake with him my dear._

"Don't go Watson, fight it."

….

How can anyone navigate in this desert, it's just sand everywhere?

_You must have some direction you fool, where's Holmes._

No, it's just empty sand.

_Find him._

Nothing for miles and miles ….

_Find him you fool._

Why? I can do this alone.

_You're an idiot Watson, I sodding bloody idiot and no mistake!_

…

A steam-engine?

_Yes, it's defiantly a machine of some kind and grinding something. _

A noise of a regular, clockwork fashion filled my head, pushing the fractured nightmares aside with its loud pounding. Was that a distinct swish of a piston after the initial grate of metal?

I opened by eyes to blinding light and the faint smell of something… cinnamon and tobacco? It took a moment for my vision to clear and an object to materialise in front of my nose.

A hand.

Not my hand, this had beautifully long fingers. A warm soft hand and I could feel those fingers covering my own. Yes, beautiful long fingers, but full of stains.

_Sherlock Holmes had hands just the same, but he's long dead and lying in the watery abyss…or not? Was he still not dead again?_

The hand lay entangled in mine on top of whiteness and moved slightly in synchronisation with the sound of the steam-engine. Pulling it didn't work as my arm was just too heavy to move. However, looking upwards I noticed the hand belonged to an arm, then a shirt sleeve and then a shoulder. A huge nose came into view, with an open mouth. It was now obvious that the nose and mouth were responsible for the steam-engine noise.

"Holmes?"

"Humm-otson."

Sleep had evidently overcome him and his dreams seemed as thick as mine, though his face was gentle. It was rare to see him so at peace, and so unguarded. The snoring momentarily stopped as he mumbled in French.

"Belle, plus veuillez, beaucoup…"

_Look at him. Only now can you feel the stronger, only in his sleep. Has your friendship come to this point? Has he made you feel so dependant and weak that you cherish only his rare vulnerable moments and not his strengths? _

Perhaps it was time…

His arm suddenly flexed and the hand now pulled me tightly inwards. I soon found myself against a very firm body, with the strong smell of cinnamon and tobacco. He groaned aloud and shifted, moving his leg upwards.

"Holmes!"

"What?" The noise stopped and the he shot upwards, suddenly awake. He looked about, then at me, then at the bed, then at himself, then pulled back and disappeared entirely off the side of the bed with a thump.

I suddenly missed him with an urgency that was quite painful.

"Holmes?"

His head re-appeared over the edge of the bed and his smile was heart-warming. "I've bashed my head and it hurts. Are you alright Watson?"

" No. Head hurts too." I was exhausted and watched while he quickly straightened the sheets and fumbled with a glass.

"Here take this …. slowly."

"What?"

"Just water, you've been ill, very ill."

I looked around, closed my eyes and assessed myself. "Fever?"

"Yes."

"How?" His answer was interrupted by a sudden coughing fit, he waited patiently until it passed and I'd managed to retain my breath.

"You never recovered from that little swim in the Thames Watson. We've been here for three days, today's Thursday."

"You stayed?"

"I once promised never to leave again Jane and I shan't." He looked at his hands, "However, I do seem to have dropped off for a bit there, sorry."

'_Never leave' You were once entirely independent, audacious and even fool-hardy. Risking your own life knowing it was your choice … not his._

"Stuck with you."

"I'm afraid so old girl."

"For now. The children?"

"What? Oh, the girls where delivered back home safely, no harm done except for a few bumps and cuts. No doubt they will suffer nightmares, but that's beyond mere men to solve. I believe their father called, but Mrs Hudson has been turning away all visitors, including Lestrade and unbelievably my brother."

"Mycroft!"

"The very same. Highly implausible, but I shall take Mrs Hudson's word. Now quiet down and rest."

Settling back I waited and watched as he straightened my cushions and fussed over the sheets. Then he settled himself into my armchair with what looked like his case notes and adopted that haughty aloofness often employed to mask discomfort. I felt warm, but comfortably so.

Though my hand now felt cold and empty.

….

**Can't say writing this was easy, even now I'm not very happy with it … anyways 'publish and be dammed' as Wellington would say. **

**Please let me know what's wrong and I'll always change accordingly, so far I've had no-one name and shame my typos and I'm sure my stuff is riddled them?**

**Of course I'm a happy bunny when I get a review. Final chapter of this story next week and hopefully I can move on to another era of Miss Watson's life.**


	13. The Little Red Bird

**Little Red Bird**

**(The Adventure of the Red Dress part Six) **

"You've been on the roof feeding the birds again Watson, you know Mrs Hudson does not approve."

The voice was almost disembodied as its owner was nowhere to be seen. I examined my skirt for water splashes or perhaps soot marks, "she needn't know, I'll just lock the door until the evidence has gone. Besides its dashed rot to blame me for the pigeons, I'm not feeding them deliberately."

Holmes suddenly materialised from behind the table holding a small red volume taken from the lower bookshelves. "However, they do seem to see you coming from as far as St Pauls, and they're by nature opportunists. In providing an arena for their infestation, you are therefore indirectly an instigator of the crime. I would also add that unfortunately locking doors will do little with that women, it's the thumping noise and commotion that alerts everyone to your little adventures Jane. Try to emulate the birds if wish to evade discovery, swoop in quickly and be precise about it." He used his hand to imitate this movement and when I laughed he looked at me sternly, "perhaps it would be better if you simply ceased the activity altogether."

"But my little robin is back again Holmes." Then, spotting the sofa entirely free I made a dash and practically threw myself at its cushions, rolling about to emphasise my triumph, then took a coughing fit for want of breath.

He raised his chin, sighting me down that huge nose, "it's not _your_ robin Watson, and like the pigeons it's merely identified you as a food source."

I finally found my breath, "I'm dashed if I can help it. I see him from my bedroom window; he sits on old Sharpy's chimney and tweets away until I emerge with supper. I am its slave and I know it."

"Robin by name and by nature. The little blighter has been living on my share of Mrs Hudson's fruit cake all week, don't think I've haven't noticed the portions are becoming smaller. You've been getting to the tea try before me and removing slices."

"Hum, we both know you notice everything. I say, you're not begrudging the poor little fellow a few crumbs?"

"It's eating better than yourself," he slowly scanned me. "Indeed, that emaciated body is in no shape to be risking life and limb climbing about on the roof in the first place. I don't like it, not after only a week."

"Poppycock, that ledge is at least four feet and I'm almost well again." I pulled down the afghan to cover myself and found a nice a loose end to pick at. "He seems so sad, chirping to himself amongst the dirty chimneys and his bright red chest is the only colour for miles. He should have proper trees and flowers and things."

"For someone with an above average intellect, you can sometimes be incredibly naïve." Holmes positioned himself on the floor next to the sofa, neatly folding his large, black spidery legs. "You feel caged in that horrid little attic room and are attempting to identify with the creature because of its freedom. However, by adopting this present feeding routine you are slowly eroding its independence and robbing the creature of that very freedom. You are conditioning the bird."

"Honestly?"

"Indeed, it shall be condemned to wander amongst the local chimneys for its entire life waiting for my fruitcake. Whereas left to fend for itself, one would expect it to return to the trees and flowers in search of worms and grubs, or whatever birds feed on."

"Gosh. I'm going to have to stop." The thought suddenly saddened me as though I'd lost an intimate friend.

_I've lost friends before now. _

Loss had always been a case of bracing oneself and adapting to the emptiness, (though that had never quite worked after Reichenbach.) Would I willingly choose to loose Holmes again? My thoughts were all still jumbled on that issue; frankly a return to that emptiness was unbearable, however it was proving increasingly difficult to live on a few crumbs of affection...

"**Watson**!"

"What? Yes?"

"Your overactive imagination does get the better of you sometimes. You look positively pale." He turned and began to pull the afghan around my shoulders, tucking it behind me. "You're shivering."

"Just a little cold. Do you think my robin will cope without the food? Perhaps it's too late."

He shook his head, "don't worry, wildlife adapts. It's the rest of us that find living without difficult."

I managed a weak smile, "you know, all this advice touches on psychotherapy and that's usually my forte."

He picked up the little red volume he had found and waved it in the air, _"'Studies in Hysteria_' by Sigmund Freud and Josef Breuer. I've been researching for a case Watson." His features now seemed to soften in concern, "you are worrying me lately old girl, do you wish to fly away?"

_God-almighty, he's doing that thought reading thing again._

My hand found his cheek, "sometimes yes." Then I laughed and pushed him backwards, "but I suspect I'm jolly-well 'conditioned' and there's absolutely no hope for me now."

He took the push in good humor, however remained serious and unfolding those long legs, he seemed to deliberately reposition himself. "You also belong with the trees and flowers Watson, not here amongst the grime and smoke." He then took my hand, a curious gesture considering his habitual indifference. With his free hand he made a frantic effort to search his waistcoat pocket and eventually produced a box. "Unfortunately, as you are well aware I am an utterly selfish fellow and would have you by my side forever. Perhaps some compensation can be derived by decamping officially from the attic room and depositing yourself down here with me and my name. It would of course also be a downwards move metaphorically, as you do deserve better, but that decision should be entirely of your own making and not be forced by myself or anyone else. "

He opened the box. "It's a ruby, it rather matches your hair don't you think? There was of course the option of a sapphire, but you have more hair than eyes and a red stone is always intriguing. Besides, blue rather brings to mind that carbuncle case and all those dashed geese. I had considered having a combination of the two made, but this little thing was available already and the proprietor seemed willing to negotiate a price…

He was uncharacteristically babbling and in a moment of joyful enlightenment, I suddenly realised he was also kneeling oddly.

"…not that I was unwilling to cough-up the full amount Watson, however…"

"Oh do be quiet Holmes!" I fell forward coughing again and he captured me in an embrace that almost knocked us both to the floor. At first I felt his body instinctively stiffen and pull away, but he stopped himself and then tentatively moved forward until eventually my nose settled against his neck. Slowly the coldness seemed to seep away.

"You have yet to give me an answer Jane, have I succeeded in keeping you?"

"No, you've set me free and yes I accept. Now give me my ring."

"You have it already; it fell from the box and I'll wager it's somewhere down the front of your dress." He looked downwards shyly and then wiggled his fingers, "I would of course be more than happy to fish it out. But that door is unlocked and Mrs Hudson would certainly not approve of such activities, should she enter inopportunely."

I laughed at him again, determined to call his bluff, "but what did you tell me about Mrs Hudson… 'locking doors will do little' and to 'swoop in quickly and be precise about it." My hand playfully mimicked his earlier bird actions and then I'm rather ashamed to confess, I pushed my chest forward in invitation…

…

…..

…

**Going to leave these two in peace for this time period, (I'm plucking up the courage to write a separate 'M' rating series entitled 'The Confessions of Miss Watson' :D) She needs to find the nerve to solve Holmes' 'touching' issue and frankly push the relationship towards a more 'steamy' future, but unfortunately I also need to find the nerve to write it! **

**In the interim 'My Dear Miss Watson' will always be rather decent and proper, though it will for now move to the stand-alones. Anyways, now people know the direction these adventures are going, I can now go back and focus on getting there. In the next posting I think we'll be going back to 1882. **

**If you've followed and enjoyed 'The Adventures of the Red Dress' please let me know, this has all been a bit of an adventure for me too! I've got far more feedback from this mini-series than my stand-alones and I'm starting to think everyone likes the stories better in 6 parts? I will do another 6 part story if that's what people want … we are here to serve.**

**Thank you for those people who have posted encouragement and kind reviews, feedback is essential because even I don't know were I'm going with Miss Watson …Tegan.**


	14. The Experiment

**The Experiment **

**(January 1882)**

…**.**

"Mr Holmes! Ah, there you are, Sherlock Holmes I swear I'll kill you!"

"Nonsense Miss Watson, you're unable to harm innocents, it's against your principles. However, I've no doubt you'll swear, you often employ a most unsuitable and shocking set of adjectives for a young lady. Now be a dear and restrain yourself while I'm working, this next stage is crucial."

"Eh? No, absolutely not! You're a complete cad sir."

"Yes, yes, yes. Here, grab this quickly, now hold it still. All I need is just one drop and if you hold this beaker still … properly Miss Watson please focus! There it is … jolly good."

"What are you experimenting on, it positively reeks in here?"

"History Watson. This small test-tube contains a pioneer breakthrough in criminal science and it will decide the fate of at least two wrongly convicted innocents. One of whom is to be hanged tomorrow. **Oh for Christ's sake Lestrade do hurry**!"

"Coming Mr Holmes, I'm ere. It's been frozen in ice like you asked, where do you want it?"

"Miss Watson is holding the beaker; drop it in before my chemicals loose their effectiveness due to your incompetence."

"Ah Miss Watson, how lovely, it's always a pleasure."

"Indeed it is Inspector. How are you and Mrs Lestrade?"

"Splendid, splendid… I think."

"**Will you both concentrate**!"

"Alright, here, we're behaving. Inspector my beaker."

"You take no notice Miss, he's been like this all evening, there ya go."

"Thank you, I'm rather used to him, what exactly is that?"

"Do stop that chattering, this is important! Now, watch and learn … I pour in my heated formula… there…steady please you're all over the place Watson … if only I'd set up a clamp instead of a female."

"Gosh, it's bubbling rather a lot, is that good?"

"Yes but don't let it get on your hands, here let me have it."

"I say, don't hurt yourself. Is it acid based?"

" AOOWCH. Bugger, bugger!"

"Gosh!"

"Mr Holmes, there's a lady present!"

"Arrrrr…ha, ha, ha….owwwwch!"

"Dash it Holmes, just drop the thing…. and not on Mrs Hudson's carpet or she'll kill us both."

"Yes, but first what colour is it? Confirm the colour, both of you NOW!"

"Ah? Well, err, I suppose I'd say a dark-like green colour, wouldn't you agree Miss Watson."

"I believe it's referred to as 'teal' Inspector."

"**Now please**!"

"Perhaps it's more blue than green do you think?"

"Rather, it's quite blue-ish, but with green undertones."

"It's going, it's gone. Oh well, blue is good enough, all agreed? I suppose you want me for a new arrest then Lestrade?"

"Eh? Is there to be a new arrest?"

"Absolutely, this reaction entirely supports my theory. You must now accept and consider the possibility of murder without a motive other than the thrill itself?"

"Based on that blue-ish colour?"

"The same reaction as we witnessed earlier with the victims clothes, this however is obviously more pronounced. Of course Miss Watson is also a reliable witness to this last experiment. It confirms the environmental adsorption of localised particles onto fabric, it's entirely essential to the case."

"I'm not witnessing anything Mr Holmes, unless you apologise."

"For doing what?"

"You've been in my room. We both agreed to stay out of bedrooms and I certainly didn't ever agree on sharing my things. Now can I have them back please?"

"I have not set foot into your sanctum sanctorum. However, the good Inspector here may have officially confiscated items necessary to police investigations."

"My undergarments? Inspector Lestrade!"

"Now, now Miss Watson, I didn't go a-hunting through your undergarments, Mr Holmes ere told me precisely where to find them."

"Holmes how…"

"A simple deduction, all boarding-school girls use the first drawer for such items, Nanny Gertrude and Aunt Florence were a perfect examples. It's only natural to assume you have also adhered to this habit."

"Nanny Gertrude?... never mind, just give them back please."

"Certainly, Inspector pass them over."

"What the devil do you want with my stockings anyway? My best ones by-the-way, pure white and of finest silk."

"Ah-well here they are back to their rightful owner. This one's less dangerous now, however I do believe that it has undergone a recent transformation. I think you described the new colour as being 'teal' or 'blue with a green undertones,' which sounds rather exciting, but I'm afraid it's now faded to a somewhat dull gray. You can also keep the beaker if you wish."

…...

…...

…..._**I challenged myself for this, I know I write far too much description and I'm desperately trying to discipline myself to cut down, thus the challenge to only write pure dialogue.**_

_**Next weeks post is a response to another challenge from reviewer Arty Diane, again I'll be working with this divine team of three… because I just LOVE Lestrade, (Colin Jeavons = )**_


	15. The Gutter

**The Gutter**

**June 1882**

I was thrown aside with a harsh shove, accompanied by a hissed, "stay and keep your head down."

Like a dog.

Indeed, a dog may have had more sense and relocated to a comfortable situation, whereas I lay obediently in the gutter. The stench surrounding me was intolerable and it soon became clear that I was sprawled across some type of animal excrement. Holmes however stood in the open, desperately scanning the darkness around him. Moving slowly in a circle, his head tilted, he listened intently to the stillness, rather akin to a terrier hunting rats. Suddenly the silence was broken.

"Well, well, well, wot have we ere. A gentleman alone and not a copper in sight." The voice came from a high wall above the passageway; Holmes spun about, but he was too late. "Isn't this cosy like eh? No shiftin now governor, lets hav yer mittens in the air. That's right."

"Billy Drake I assume?"

"Yours truly."

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, I'm alone Billy and not armed."

"An a bloody fool is wot yer are. I'll av you I will."

"But think, you only have a robbery to your name, kill me and it'll also be a murder charge and a hanging for sure. I have Scotland Yard close behind me, you certainly won't get away with it."

"Watch me."

"Ah-well, so be it. But before you press that trigger Billy, I would be much obliged if you could furnish me with some answers. I have one or two rather pressing queries about that bank job yesterday."

"I'll not squeal."

"But a fellow deserves a little curtsey before he meets his maker. Even the privilege of facing one's executioner, I can't quite see you Billy."

It was at this point that I began to inch across the cobblestones and towards the base of the wall. Something had to be done and in my opinion Holmes wasn't doing it fast enough. Fortunately before we left, I had pocketed an old service revolver given to me in Afghanistan. I now crawled hard until I could eventually see an outline figure. Then I positioned myself and aimed.

"Yer wants me to talk! This ere gun will talk Mr Olmes, yer can see that oright…"

Both the sound and the kick-back from the revolver were almost incapacitating and the very air around me seemed to explode. Then there was absolute silence…

"Bloody-hell!"

"Gosh ...yes... quite."

"You've killed the bugger!"

"Yes, I do seem to have got him, I dashed near got myself as well."

Holmes rushed to the fallen body. "No, it appears he's only been winged."

"Keep back Holmes."

"But quite debilitated, that fall's knocked him clear out."

"Here, move, let me check his injuries. He may need urgent help."

"What an angel you are Watson, both demonic and divine."

"You're right, he's hit his head. Doesn't look too serious, but one can ever tell with head wounds. There's also blood on his shoulder were the bullet grazed him."

"And who the devil taught you to shoot like that?" Holmes came over and took the revolver from me, inspecting it and before I could answer he continued, "however your grip is incorrect, not quite used to a handgun ? "

"No, it's rather lethal for such a small thing. I was quite shocked."

"Of course, rather than sit at home and learn your needlework like a good child, Jane Watson showed more interest in shooting game along with her father and brother, so a shotgun would be more to your liking eh? Indeed, this hand gun has not been used for sometime; let me see…army issue … no-doubt given to you as a precaution in Afghanistan?"

"Yes by an orderly called Murray, the chap that saved me, it somehow never got handed back and they kept it with my things. Daddy liked to kill dinner himself and insisted John and I learnt, though I never actually approved and preferred my wildlife still skipping about the countryside."

"Ah, I'll wager that you tried to bandage the bunnies afterwards?"

"I did and what in gods name were you doing chattering away with this fellow, he almost removed that brilliant mind of yours, head and all. You play the dashed fool sometimes Holmes."

"I am no fool Watson, I had an excellent plan, however your shot saved me the trouble. There's a loose brick some six inches from were Drakes left foot stood, see here… a moment or two more and he would have hit this spot and lost his balance, thus giving me the opportunity to pounce." He smiled triumphantly.

"Your whole plan rested on a loose brick? " I shook my head and returned to the fallen Mr Drake, checking his pulse again. "Please remind me to pack Murray's revolver more often. God-forbid we should ever encounter a criminal on a nice, new wall, with no suspicious masonry to save us."

"You know Watson, I rather liked you better when you were ill and quietly brooded, all this energy, accompanied by flippancy is most disconcerting. And you've developed an unfortunate turn of sarcasm, which is most unbecoming for female."

Holmes was scowling but suddenly he looked sharp and grabbing my arm dragged me upwards and against the wall. He then threw himself fully against my back.

"What's wrong?" I gasped.

"Shhhh, someone's coming!"

A voice came out of the darkness, "Oy, wots all this then?" We didn't move. "Ere, you there, what's going on? Gentlemen …sodding-hell! We'll have none of that! Move away from the wall and stop it at once."

It was clearly Inspector Lestrade.

"Bloody sodomy it is! Now clear off the both of yer or I'll hav you at the yard!"

"Oh for goodness-sake Lestrade, we are doing nothing of the kind!"

"Mr Holmes, is that you? Who's this ere gentleman with you?"

"'This here gentleman' Inspector is actually Miss Watson."

"Eh? "

Holmes swung me around and ripped off my false moustache simultaneously, but with a little more drama than tenderness. "Oww! sod-it, that hurt!"

"Language Watson."

"Miss Watson! Why… what… you're dressed like a gent!"

"Well, Holmes here refused to take me out unless I looked inconspicuous and dressed sensibly so…"

"Hang-on, what were you both doing against that wall just now?"

Holmes stiffened and folded his arms, "what are you insinuating Inspector?"

Lestrade stepped forward and pulled himself upwards, gaining height from no-where, "Mr Holmes, Miss Watson ere deserves better. She's a proper lady even if you don't see it and…."

"I was **shielding** her."

"Where you now and who from?"

Holmes pointed to the unconscious form that still lay sprawled across the cobblestones. "The accomplices of William Drake, more commonly known as 'The Duck'. There he lays Inspector."

Lestrade's face lit up at the sight of a body and he dashed over. "Billy Drake, you got him! You're one step ahead of us tonight, almost had The Duck myself. If I'd just been a bit quicker eh? I've got my men crawling over this dock looking for im. Then I heard this ere gunshot and ran like the devil himself, but not quick enough I see. Well done Mr Holmes!"

"Why thank you Lestrade, however Miss Watson actually shot the fellow."

Lestrade leaned back on his heals shaking his head, "dear me Mr Holmes, you do say some queer things, Miss Watson was it then, my Aunt Fanny more likely." As though a thought suddenly occurred he sat sniggering and whispered to my friend, "what a rum turn-up this has been, Drake himself bagged, Miss Watson looking like a toff and here's me thinking you two were mandrakes."

I heard him quite clearly, but understood very little, "I beg your pardon Inspector, 'mandrakes'?" I was acutely aware of the plant and its relevance, but I could not see its significance to our current situation. "And who is 'Aunt Fanny'?"

"Our apologies, the Inspector was using an inappropriate terminology, though he does somewhat redeem himself in intension. It is rather refreshing to see a Yarder turning the blind eye to human nature for once."

"Public indecency is an offence Mr Holmes, an it's all the same to me who it's done with. Though god-forbid, there's worse crime out there than a bit o rut for a gent or two, if you take my meaning."

"What on earth are you babbling about?"

"Ignore the Inspector Watson, his mind is in the gutter." Holmes pocketed Drakes discarded gun and handed mine back, "now we would all do well to focus to the task at hand. There are still several other gang members at large. "

However Lestrade was suddenly preoccupied with sniffing the air about him. A pained expression appeared across his features, "what's that god-awful smell?"

"Err, that would be me Inspector." I pointed to my former hiding place. "I've been rolling about were apparently your mind is currently encamped."

"Eh?"

…

….

…

_**Thank you to Arty Diane for the challenge of having 'Miss Watson fire a gun.' I hope I made a half decent effort? **_

_**Anyone else have any challenges or homeless plot bunnies please feel free to throw them in my direction before Miss Watson shoots them. I can't promise to write them directly, but I'll always keep them in mind for the future.**_

_**Tegan**_


	16. Flushed

**December 1890**

My left ear was throbbing, possibly from a winter infection, but this was compounded by the insufferable whingeing of my fellow lodger.

"… and there's not even anything half decent in the agony columns!" I dodged the papers as they sailed across our sitting room and landed with frightening precision into the fireplace, combusting instantaneously. "London has become a dull and placid place Watson, not even the criminals can be bothered. Perhaps I should retire to the country and keep geese."

"Geese? You've always hated them. Remember that business we had with the blue carbuncle, you were in absolute fear of them biting, even the dead ones. And Moriarty is probably fostering this false sense of boredom by doing nothing, he's hoping that you take to the needle, and then he'll have a jolly good crime binge at your expense!"

"NEVER, don't you ever say that name aloud Watson!"

"I beg your pardon, what...?"

"You know who and what." His face had flushed in a way he reserved only for his more extreme moods and he stood up with sudden energy. "You are never to admit knowing that man exists, even to me, do you hear?" I quickly nodded assent, somewhat flabbergasted with this abrupt rage. "I should have kept silent, it was foolish of me to involve you. You could easily become a mere pawn in his game." He was now frantically pacing about the room, staring repeatedly out the window and then at me.

"He probably doesn't know I even exist. After all I'm supposed to be a retired Army Surgeon, with a wife and a moustache."

"NO, do not confuse him with the puerile clientele of The Strand magazine Watson. There is nothing or no-one that escapes him. I've warned you, eradicate him from your brain, then perhaps he will do likewise with you."

"But you still propose to pursue him?"

"When I choose to disclose my plans to you I will, until then the matter is closed."

The silence that followed was uncomfortable and I seriously considered the merits retiring to my little attic room, despite the bitter cold and unlit fire. Holmes had finished pacing and was now methodically searching throughout the room, with the same sudden fervour.

"I say Holmes, it's getting rather late and your temper is a dashed short. I think I'll go up and…"

He turned quickly and his voice was cold, "where have you hid it?"

"Not hid, I put it in the lavatory."

"You flushed it? This is intolerable!" He was now shouting, "you, you actually stole something of mine and deliberately destroyed it?"

I uncurled myself from the sofa and stood to face him, if he was attempting to intimidate me then he was sadly misguided. "Absolutely not! That great brain of yours should have deduced the improbability of theft on my behalf, let alone wilful destruction. Besides, it's far too big to flush effectively even if I smashed it first and I highly doubt our infamously dreadful pluming could successfully flush it. As I stated, I 'put it in the lavatory' as in 'placed it' and I'd rather you kept the infernal thing in there or possibly your own room instead of leaving it about the place. You know how I feel on the subject."

He straightened and looked defiant. Then, just as suddenly as it began, his mood evaporated, leaving him looking tired and almost fragile. "You needn't shout Watson, and please stay, I sincerely apologise for my foul mood. My mind…" He held out a trembling hand, then pushed it through his black hair and shook his head in resignation. "It's reeling, with nothing to anchor it."

"Then come for a walk, or read a book, or write or do something. Don't just stand there behaving poorly and feeling self-pity."

He threw his hands in the air, "why should I concern myself with mere criminals when my real nemesis is actually right here in this sitting room, in the shape of a confounded nurse."

"No Holmes, your real nemesis is in the lavatory, in a Moroccan box."

…..

….

…

_**Any typos, please let me know, (thank you to the reader who told me about the whopping typo that's been in the story summary for almost a year!)**_

_**Tegan**_


	17. Changed

**The Winter of 1894**

**...**

"He's changed."

"You've noticed too?"

Inspector Lestrade nodded and moved aside, pulling me with him. "Three years can do that, but this is something more."

From a distance we both watched as Holmes continued to search for footprints, but suddenly he stopped and looked in our direction.

"See, e's looking for you again, e never used to do that."

"Nonsense, he can sense we're talking about him."

"You've been together often recently?"

"Yes, but we've been busy."

Lestrade smiled knowingly, "And e's got you by 'is side to gloat at… all lovingly."

"You're talking absolute hogwash."

"Am I? We'll see."

...

...

...

_**Another drabble, I find these so awfully bloody frustrating they will come few and far between! **_

_**This one involves Lestrade AGAIN, I do love him to bits, however I will now try to do other combinations in future.**_

_**Any mistakes PLEASE let me know.**_

_**Tegan**_


	18. April '87

**Dear all, my sincere apologies, but I got the date on yesterdays post totally wrong and therefore the whole thing made no sense at all. I have corrected 'Changed' to 1894 (a whole decade later and AFTER Empty House) and am now offering this little extra addition I wrote this morning by way of compensation for wasting your time.**

**So sorry, Tegan.**

...

...

...

'_It was some time before the health of my friend Mr Sherlock Holmes, recovered from the strain caused by his immense extensions in the spring of 87.'_

_The Adventure of the Reigate Squire._

**Hotel Dulong. Lyons, France. April 15th 1887**

"Toutes mes excuses mademoiselle, mais nous nous attendions Docteur Watson, ne comprenez pas? We expects Mr Doctor Watson, célèbre ami de Monsieur Sherlock Holmes."

"Mon nom est Watson, Miss Watson, I am son ami, his friend, yes. Où est-il?"

The hotel proprietor looked past me as though expecting someone else behind. "Excuse please, il ya une erreur mademoiselle."

"There is no mistake, where is he? I must see him at once. Où est-il?" The little man looked nervously at the ceiling above him. "Oh, he's upstairs isn't he?" Waving the telegram in the air I pushed past him, "I'm frankly in no mood for discussion sir and I apologise, but my French has always been deplorable. This note of yours has had me travelling for almost 20 hours and I shall not be stopped by the very people whom originally summoned me. Let me see him at once!"

He was running after me, "But mademoiselle, the gentleman, e is in is rooms."

"Good, that means he's getting some rest."

"Please non visitor, 'no-one except Watson' e says, e is err…how you say… 'adam-ant!"

I arrived on the first floor and faced a row of rooms, "which room?"

He stood before me and stubbornly shook his head.

"Quelle chambre? Non, then I'll bloody-well kick down every door until you tell me. Here….. Holmes, you in there? …Oh dreadfully sorry sir… miss, er-madam, didn't mean to intrude.…"

"Arrête Mademoiselle, please!"

"Move out of the way or so help me, you'll go with this next one."

"Non, not this please, my hotel!**S**acré bleu! Non, non, non, pas un autre! This, here.. this room… number six, Monsieur Holmes, e is in six, yes, please." He quickly ran away to apologise to the couple in the first room.

"At last, thank you sir…. Holmes … HOLMES, you in there? Are you decent?"

The door gave-way and as I entered smoke poured out, "I say, there's a fire in here. **Fire, Holmes!"**

"Oh do shut up Watson, close that bloody door."

"What the devil? Have you been smoking? It's impossible in here."

"**The door!**"

"It's closing. Opening a dammed window, get some fresh air and light in here, dear-me. There." I turned, "oh-christ..."

He was crouched in the space between the bed and the wall, a filthy sheet barely covering him and a nightshirt literally hanging from his bones. His raven hair fell in a greasy mop that almost obscured his face, except for one blood-shot eye …which was crying.

"Holmes."

He said nothing; a cigarette fell quietly to the floor as he held out his trembling hand.


	19. The Drawer

**The Desk Drawer**

**December 1895**

**...**

"You were jealous."

I glanced upwards from writing to find Sherlock Holmes smiling at me above a tattered copy of _The Stand_ magazine. "What?"

"You were jealous of Irene Adler?"

"Oh don't be absurd, she was all face powder and old enough to be my aunt."

"She was very beautiful, even you acknowledged that. She was also very clever."

"Unlike me?" I was being surly, but just the mere mention of 'the woman' had always raised my hackles. Actually, I rather hoped that once I'd written her off as married Irene Adler would vanish. Little did I realise that '_A Scandal in Bohemia'_ was to become a reader favourite and Miss Adler a celebrated character.

"It is now obvious you are still jealous." He threw the book onto his desk, snatched a cushion from the sofa and came over to clearly study my face; of course this only irritated me further. "Yes, a distinct reaction to her name. And I shan't bother answering your petty question Watson, we both know that you are well above average on both accounts."

"But you don't keep a picture of me in your locked desk drawer."

"Why should I? The real thing is sitting before me."

"Is it still in there?" I looked at his desk.

He was now smiling broadly, "perhaps."

"Do you get it out and pour over it when I'm not here?"

His face fell, "I'm not sure I appreciate the double meaning in that question Watson. Such vulgarity is not becoming in a young lady."

"I'm not so young these days and you can interpret my meanings in whatever fashion suits you, you always do." I turned from him and pretended to write. Unfortunately he remained, watching me intently.

"You have misspelt 'mediaeval' and needlessly repeated a minor word twice in that opening paragraph. It's very sloppy, a more precise phrasing would be, '_The post had brought a note and Holmes carefully read it._' I say, isn't it rather familiar to introduce a fellow as 'Holmes' right off the bat? Surely not all your readers are regulars? 'Mr Sherlock Holmes the world's foremost authority in the art of detection' would be more of an instructive introduction." His exquisitely long index finger descended upon my manuscript and prodded at the top, "probably best to reconstruct that paragraph entirely, bear in mind the first of any story must be thorough and no doubt have a little more imagination."

"I thought you didn't approve of my imagination? Besides, my editor pays for a professional proof-reader, so you needn't trouble yourself."

"Was he the fellow who has me as a student of Baritsu rather than Bartitsu?"

"Count yourself fortunate; that same story almost had you down in history as consulting a 'Head Llama' in Tibet until it was spotted by a typesetter. Now go away and do something else, I don't care what. Why not open that drawer and gaze at Miss Adler, I'm trying to concentrate and you're just being beastly." I tried to brush his hand away but it moved too quickly and catching mine, it gently pulled free my pen and placed it back on the ink-stand. A small sticking plaster fell in the struggle and I immediately looked for its origin, "what have you done? You've been experimenting on yourself again, what is it this time, blood or tissue samples?" It was utter sacrilege to see such beautiful hands so poorly used.

"Actually, it was a genuine mishap with the holly on our Christmas wreath and don't digress, I am well aware you have been fuming ever since I started reading that magazine. Why this resentment, it was years ago?"

I struggled with defiance and a need to hold onto the truth, but as always it just poured out and into his hands. "Because she was beautiful and everyone was fighting over her. And because I was a cripple and no-one ever wanted me. You had to be tricked into taking any interest in my welfare and letting me room here, I could have disappeared for good back then for all anyone cared. Because they allowed me to write about her, she was a proper women, but they wouldn't let Jane Watson anywhere near the adventures. Because she had a trail of lovers all over Europe and still everyone approves of her. I'm respectably engaged, but yesterday Mrs Sharpe at the butchers wouldn't serve me anymore, since Mrs Hudson is taking the season at her sisters she thinks I've also taken the opportunity to become your harlot and we now live in sin, her husband had to come out from the back to get your chops. I was tempted to tell her that the chance would be a fine thing but by then we an audience. Mainly because you died and travelled to Europe where she was and don't tell me you didn't look for her, I never asked you if you found her because I was far too wary of the truth. You even took her picture, I found it in your carpet bag. And lastly, because I married her off all those years ago to annoy you, but you've only just bothered to read the bloody story, blast you!"

"You presumed incorrectly, I only ever once shared my bed during those three years and that was with a herd of mountain goats, they being the solitary source of heat for miles. However, I must confess… I have recently had a reunion."

"With the goats … oh… you, yo-you mean The Woman! You met her? You met The Woman and never said anything?"

"Because it is fairly evident Jane that a fellow only has to mention her name and you take on this sour mood. I'm now anticipating that devil of a temper and shall prepare myself for flying objects. Vestram facere pessimum,*" he held up the cushion.

I took in a deep breath, "was it accidental or did you both arrange to meet?"

"Purely unintentional on my behalf, although I rather suspect it was carefully orchestrated on hers."

"What did she want?"

"She read your account of the affair and was curious about my intensions … and well she might, you were a tad romantic about it all."

"Me romantic … you keep her picture, I just write what happens."

"Nonsense, your stories are profusely romantic, frequently embellished and often total fabrication. The British public see me as a heartless thinking machine, with misogynist tendencies and a penchant for cocaine. No wonder you sell so many copies of that rag, I rather suspect they buy them in order to ritually burn and exorcise the heathen they glorify.

"Don't play the innocent, you're guilty on all three accounts, I may exaggerate but I always start with the truth. Besides now you're digressing, we were discussing your little réunion de clandestinité with 'The Woman.' I will say it again, what did she want?"

"Tea and cake. I'm afraid that her ultimate intent was somewhat more, but I had to bashfully decline."

"She threw herself at you?"

He scratched his chin and slowly examined his fingernails, "throwing would require some energy, subtle hinting is more her style."

"Give me that picture, I've a sudden need to stamp on it!"

His smile returned, "Why did you place it back in my drawer after Reichenbach?"

"Because your brother insisted on everything being left as it was, 'exactly' was the phrase he kept brandishing. I assumed it was his way of grieving and let him organise the whole business, not that I was much help at the time. I was also a little frightened; I could swear he was constantly looking at me and expecting something, so I picked the lock and put it back. I do find Mycroft rather intimidating."

"I often regret allowing you to observe and acquire such dubious skills Watson, lock-picking indeed. And pray-tell, how would Mycroft know about the photograph?"

"He reads _The Strand_ and not years later, he's a proper reader. We often discuss the stories and his criticism is always positive."

"Don't flatter yourself my dear, brother Mycroft would naturally scrutinise your work in case it compromises national security. He would then feel obliged to patronise you with his criticisms as he was born magnanimous and he can't quite help himself. As for Miss Adler's photograph, it also had an unfortunate adventure during that one you entitled 'The Empty House.' An interesting tale despite the obvious mistakes, though you never quite captured Watson's true passion when I revelled myself as still alive after the initial faint. That shocking temper of yours was entirely missing in the final account. Also, the relationship between 'British Birds' and your bookcase was written in a far more flattering light, considering in reality the volume re-bounded off my jaw and smashed the cabinet entirely. In retrospect, I should never have attempted to use a solid object as a shield; cushions are far safer than books when lost in battle, but unfortunately not always handy. I believe the resulting loss of my left canine was actually mentioned, but also in the wrong context."

He rubbed the left-hand side of his face as though still in pain and the forgotten guilt of that incident returned afresh. "That was an accident; you know I wouldn't intentionally hurt you. I was actually aiming for your thick skull, but I was still trembling with shock and my aim was uncertain."

"A tooth was a worthy sacrifice for your friendship Watson. However, should I now protect my 'thick skull'?" He placed the cushion on his head and its extravagant fringe tassels flopped over his ears and nose.

"You look ridiculous, give me that." I took the cushion from him and threw it at his desk, hitting the drawer with perfect accuracy and knocking his copy of _The Strand_ onto the floor.

"He raised his eyebrows, an acknowledgment of my impeccable aim and then stood to retrieve _The Strand, _extracting it from the box containing our Christmas decorations. Then removing a key from his watch-chain he placed the book with some care into the sacred drawer and then returned to assess the damage, gingerly examining a battered looking wreath with hanging glass stars. "Sometimes things have false charm when unobtainable; in comparison continuous association can often blind a fellow to true worth. Miss Adler is very different from you and I am glad of it, just as this little painted star is different from this natural holly with its red berries. I realised all this on that the evening I invited you back to Baker Street." He placed the holy wreath above the hearth and carelessly tossed the painted bauble into the blaze below. Closing his eyes I was surprised to find him quoting directly from my text; "'_Watson, if you can endure the draught from a broken window, I think that half an hour in my study over a cigar may afford you some profitable amusement." _Everything was indeed quite chilly that night, including yourself, though you warmed a little later. However it did take a certain amount of humouring over a roaring fire and of course Miss Adler's picture helped fuel those flames."

…_.._

…_._

…_.._

_.._

_._

_**A very early Christmas contribution, but it's already started in the shops over here in Liverpool UK.**_

**_I hope everyone forgives me for audaciously lacing into 'The Empty House', 'The Sussex Vampire' and throwing a cushion at _'_A Scandal in Bohemia,' shame on me … we all know that everything ACD writes should be truly worshipped! However I can't with all honesty sincerely apologise to Irene Adler fans, I'm afraid I never quite liked her and that's just rubbed-off on Miss Watson. I know I 'flamed' her picture, please, please, please don't take out a similar revenge on me :D_**

_**I also apologise for the poor quality of my last two efforts, only the dedicated few reviewed them … bless you I shamefully confess they where somewhat hurried, consequently I've spent a little longer on this, as always let me know if you are enjoying or please just let me know if you are out there watching this series?**_

_**Thank you Tegan.**_

_*_ Vestram facere pessimum = Latin, 'Do your worst.'


	20. Bees

**Mycroft's Country Estate. Summer, 1902**

"Bees?!"

As we both watched the little insect laboriously working its way through a foxglove, I resisted a sudden spiteful urge to lash out and knock the poor thing through sheer frustration. "But Holmes, you are far too young to retire. Besides, none of my readers will ever believe that you gave it all up for bees!"

"And why not? I assure you, those sadly deluded unfortunates will believe almost anything. Indeed the improbable twaddle they seem to habitually soak up has made us rather wealthy Watson."

"But it's all loosely based on fact. I don't like this Holmes, it's dashed unfair."

"Absolutely, but we must do our duty regardless."

"Agreed, but why is it always you called for duty? Why can't someone else do Mycroft's dirty work?"

"He can't afford to make mistakes; it has to be done carefully and cleverly by someone trustworthy."

"Then how long will it take?"

"I have accepted this, it is my new vocation in life."

"No…" I did not sit deliberately, my legs simply gave way and I followed them down onto the grass. He remained standing, watching me sadly.

"I'm sorry Jane."

"For now yes, but once some new problem takes over that great attic brain of yours Sherlock, we will simply be pushed to the back to gather dust. I don't mind you working for the government, but it is all this secrecy and lies I hate. Besides, this is certainly not a good time to pack us all up and shift us to the countryside."

"It's crucial that when I'm on an assignment people don't see you and the children alone. My regular absences from home will only be questioned and especially by our more inquisitive neighbours. But more to the point, if I remain at Baker Street I will have to refuse new clients and that will be highly suspicious."

"Oh, I haven't dealt with the fact that you will be regularly waltzing off and leaving me alone with the children for weeks on end. They're not easy as we both know. Look, Shelly's already digging up your brothers rose garden to collect his soil samples, you can be certain his pockets will be full of paper and dirt again. I've just left Violet in the library reading, no doubt she'll want to discuss whatever she's found in depth after dinner and god help us all if it's in a foreign language and needs translating. She's been absolutely dreadful since she started talking, it's like the floodgates of questions have opened. Then there's little Peter, god only knows where he's got to, doubtless irritating the butler senseless somewhere. In total, they're an impending cataclysm, which I strive daily to avoid and frankly none of them take after me. I always considered myself rather clever, but I am fairly normal compared to all this dashed genius." I found myself smiling despite my anger, "and I suppose that's why I love you all so dearly."

"I left Peter with Mycroft, he wished to see the fossils again. No, you won't be forgotten and yes, I realise none of this is easy. We all have to make sacrifices."

"But must there always be sacrifices Sherlock? God only knows we have supported you in the past and will continue, but you have to set yourself limits. Must we go on and on giving?"

"Yes and for the greater good Jane. There will come a time when this peaceful land of ours will be dragged through hell and back and god knows what the outcome will be. Hopefully, we can postpone that or at least make sure our country is ready. Of course that would only leave matters until Shelly is old enough to fight. Therefore I must ensure his generation has the upper hand." He sat down and gingerly took my hand, "For the first time in his career Mycroft is struggling to keep us all safe. He needs an agent he can trust."

"I don't care about him or Whitehall, I care about you."

"But you also care greatly about this," he swept his arm across the landscape before us. "It could one day be gone. No England for the children."

"You could be gone too."

"Yes, but I don't intend to."

I shook my head, how could one single person become so central to ones happiness? It would be difficult not knowing if he was safe, not able to constantly watch over him, force him to eat and keep him healthy. I reached out and dragged a hand through his sleek hair, ruffling it, suddenly wishing he'd let it grow again and go back to his younger bohemian ways, that raven mass that would obscure so much, except those intense gray eyes. In response he pulled my head upwards to a kiss. Part of me worried about being spied frolicking on the lawn with my husband, but the more sensible part realised these were now precious moments. Eventually I released him.

"Very well, I'll write you as retired," my lips grazed his chin, "but bees are seasonal you know, what shall I have you doing during winter in a lonely cottage?"

His mouth pulled at my ear, "Hummm, throughout winter I could be studying Watson."

"'Studying Watson!' I laughed at his deliberate play on words, "studying what?"

"Species reproduction."

"Do the bees do it?"

"Apparently and the birds. Where has your mouth gone… do focus Jane."

Another precious moment and I released his lips again. "No, I'll have to separate you both, we must leave the good doctor with a practice in London and you in the cottage alone or the gossip will be frightful. You're already getting far too many endearing letters from young gentleman admirers as it is."

"And why not, the world is a wonderfully diverse place Watson, the evidence of which can be clearly derived from my mail. There is such a delightfully assorted sprinkling of individuals that appreciate the art of detection that I confess, I am rather intrigued by it all. Indeed, each letter is a window into human psychology," he smiled arrogantly. "There was a marriage proposal from the eight year old daughter of Lord Pearson last week; it's fairly obvious that's she's neglected by her father in preference to his unintelligent younger son. Also an enquiry about my ability to effectively procreate by the Russian National Ballet, I've deduced that their Prima ballerina assoluta is frightfully unbalanced and unsuitable to raise anyone's offspring, let alone anymore of mine. Of course, there was also that rather odd offer from a Swedish fellow involving his wife and birch-wood canes, I passed that onto Lestrade. Admittedly these are extremes, but those 'gentleman admires' you refer to Jane are merely a reflection of society itself and not to be discouraged, it's the Swedish husbands that we should be cautious of." He laughed, "and you do need to consider the long-term effects of your scribbling, declaring to the public that I've been abandoned may only encourage them all to appear at your cottage doorstep, birch-wood canes in-hand, perhaps wishing to console the lonely detective?"

"Serves him right… but you're right, sadly they'll only find poor deserted Jane Holmes and her wayward children. I shall have to promote little Peter to doorman, that'll scare them. Seriously though, I'll miss the detective, not to mention the money from _The Strand_. I don't suppose one can write adventure stories about government agents? That would be rather jolly."

"Mycroft wouldn't let you." Suddenly sombre he sat up, "besides, I shall keep you out of the business. There will be at least one part of my life that's pure and not filled with lies, politics and corruption."

I gently punched his shoulder, "I'm not exactly pure, you saw to that. I say, what are we to do with Mrs Hudson? She's far too old to run things without me."

"I know, I'm still working on that one, she will want to stay. We'll keep the flat, you may occasionally need a bed in town. However if her chest goes again we will almost certainly have to move her in with you and the children."

"She'll be good company; actually she'll be welcome company." I sighed, "it is all going to be quite dreary in the country after years at town, but I suppose we shall make do. Where is this cottage again?"

"Have you forgotten already? As always Watson, you discard crucial facts in preference to trivia. The cottage can be found on the Sussex coast in a quiet little village and on the grounds of a large family estate. Captain Fredrick Duffy is the local squire, an officially retired royal guard and now an unofficial agent of Mycroft, Duffy mainly does paperwork, but he is also useful on the field at a pinch. His wife Elizabeth paints, she is an RA and exhibits in town, so she often travels up and would apparently appreciate female company. There is a rather decent girl's school in the next village and a boarding school for boys less than an hours ride away. They have no district nurse and I believe the local doctor is in dire need of assistance."

"No doubt it is very beautiful, but it will never quite be London." I picked at a blade of grass, twisting it though my fingers. "You know, you might not desire to always return to all that kind of perfection. Sussex has no little problems to fuel that demanding brain and after all Baker Street is in your blood, always has been since you first set foot there. It would be all too tempting to avoid the dullness of the country and stay in town at every opportunity."

Pulling my hand away from the grass he held it to his face, "my desire is to protect us, more than anything is my wish not to loose what I value most. Why should I than wish abandon you hum?" His eyes where ashen, a combination of the afternoon sunshine and sadness, the deep tones of gray were all but gone. "I have regrettably made a habit of emphasising some of your more pronounced failings Watson, but dullness in defiantly not one of them, I would say more the contrary. There is not another fellow in England that has a wife and three children so utterly unpredictable and so creatively anarchist. I'm sure Sussex will never quite be the same place after my busy brood has invaded its peaceful nest."

…

….

…

_**Some of you may recognise touches from 'The Private life of Sherlock Holmes' in this… a wonderful film. **_

_**There's a constant battle between my writing and my confidence that is affecting my posts, I've been loosing lately and therefore avoided posting on Fanfiction like a catching plague... dyslexia does that. **_

_**But here I am.**_

_**I've half written a second 'Miss Watson' story series that will start during 'A Study in Scarlet'. It will be posted under a different title than in here and it will tattle the issues of how these two ended up becoming friends and sharing a flat. It will hopefully be a little more chronological… so please, please support it when it arrives after Christmas… with any luck ... anyone out there prepared to Beta?**_

_**And as always, 'Miss Watson' thanks you for your feedback… makes it all worth-while.**_

_**Tegan**_


	21. Time and Tide part 1

_**This 6 part story arch has been placed in the 'T' rating for a reason; please don't read if you are offended by the crude language or 'mild' adult themes later in the story. I have plenty of perfectly harmless stories elsewhere in these tales. **_

_**-oooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO Ooooooooooooooooooo-**_

_**Time and Tide **_

_**(Part One)**_

**Baker Street,**_** December 18**__**th**__** 1895**_

"What is it Holmes, you look rather concerned?"

"A telegraph from Mycroft, apparently he's leaving for Belgium in a week and wishes an audience with me at the Diogenes Club."

"Belgium? And during Christmas week! His club will be full of food, how bizarre! Here let me see, they've probably typed it all wrong at the Post Office. I'll wager it was meant to say he's 'living on beef for a week' or something of that sort."

He lifted the telegram from my view, "Watson, correspondence from one's sibling is entirely personal and moreover he writes in secret code, it will make no sense to you."

"You could at least let me try, here give me a tiny peek. Besides everyone knows there should be no secrets between a couple truly in love."

He responded to that by raising his eyebrows and carefully folding the paper, placing it firmly in his waistcoat pocket, then tapping it with emphasis.

I pretended to ignore the gesture, "You know, it's probably all just nothing but government poppycock. Perhaps your brothers going all that way to simply avoid being sociable at our wedding."

"Nonsense, you are only too aware that Mycroft has been the foremost champion of our nuptials. No, it's the Foreign Office again," he seemed lost in thought and I took the opportunity to gently move his legs off the settee and replace them with myself.

"Do you want him as best man, because I don't mind postponing the wedding for a bit." I was lying, I minded terribly. "Of course if he simply chooses to be elsewhere, we could save heaps on the catering."

His thoughts were already engaged elsewhere and he spoke in a distant fashion, almost as a whisper, "I rather wanted him to give you away, I shan't have you walking down the aisle alone."

"Gosh, that's rather kind of you Holmes."

"Practical, I need someone to ensure you don't turn up at entirely the wrong church Watson. Here hand me some paper will you."

"Like Fanny Robin in 'Far From the Madding Crowd'?" I learned behind the sofa, grabbed a sheet of foolscap from my desk, pushed the paper into his hands, then also pushed myself further upwards and into his arms. "We could still get lost you know. Then you will have to wait all alone at the alter, eventually abandoning the whole affair in anger and go off to find some rich heiress instead. I shall be left to wonder the streets, cold and starving and I'll give birth in Mrs Hudson's coal shed and die."

He gazed at me with a look of exasperation, "it's highly improbable that Mycroft will ever 'get lost' and you are certainly not pregnant Watson. Indeed you are both respectable and decent, unlike that twaddle Mr Hardy's writes. Why do people flock to buy his books?" He was now penning a reply to his brother.

"Because they're not respectable and decent, but they're a ripping read, besides you think all fiction is 'twaddle'." I ventured a stray hand across his shoulder, "if Mycroft's with me, who will stand with you?"

"Err-yes, well I am rather unsure on that one. I may have to ask Lestrade."

"Oh how marvellous, he'd be just wonderful! Imagine the speech, he's bound to say something magnificently improper."

"Humm, that postponement; I may have to take you up on it."

"Oh"

"Only a month or so, I can't possibly tie-the-not with all this business unsolved." He suddenly stood and shot to the door, allowing me to fall forwards against the pillows."

"Gosh, where are you off to in such a rush?" I detangled myself from the afghan cover, "what business and 'or so' is how long precisely?"

"The docks, I'm afraid an acquaintance of mine has been up to his old tricks again." He had pulled on his coat and started the daily hunt for his hat, how such a great mind could misplace a simple item so frequently bewildered me. "It's rather secret Watson, sorry old-girl. Forty days at the most, Mycroft won't stand to be parted from the Diogenes Club for any longer. I say Watson, have you seen my-"

"It's next to your left foot, behind my umbrella; we do have a hat-stand you know." I threw my hands into the air in frustration, "very well I'll postpone everything, it's not as though I've waited long enough already. You know, if you kissed me I may forget my heartbreaking disappointment."

He looked at me highly doubtful, "If I were to kiss you, will you leave me in peace about the matter?"

"I promise."

He kissed me lightly on the cheek, "there now behave and I'm afraid this may take some time, please don't wait up for me and cancel my breakfast."

Every warning alarm in my head went off simultaneously, I'd heard this one before, "no-no, NO you don't, I may never be your keeper Mr Sherlock Holmes, but I certainly intend to be your look-out. Now how long **precisely **and when should I start to worry? "

"I'll be gone for a day, perhaps two, no more." He practically flew out of the door and down the stairs."

I followed him and shouted "**TWO DAYS**!?"

… but he was already gone.

…

_**Another six-part story arch, this actually was meant to arrive on Christmas Day as a present, but I got the sickness bug taking over the UK and festered in my own misery for 3 days instead.**_

_**You would, (as always) be doing me a great honour AND sending me an extra-special Christmas treat if you left a note to say you just read my stuff… nothing more. I would LOVE to hear from the more out-of-the-way readers, frankly I get all excited about the traffic from far-away places around the world that sound so wonderful, like 'Brunei Darussalam' ( had to look that one up on Google **__**)**_

_**I also treasure the USA and Europe hits too….and not forgetting Sweden, Canada, Australia and Philippines … WISHING YOU ALL A HAPPY NEW YEAR!**_

_**Tegan **_


	22. Time and Tide Part Two

**The Time and Tide**

**Part Two**

**The Hallway of 221B Baker Street, two days five hours later.**

I tried to work it all out rationally, as Holmes would, but sheer panic was slowly chipping away at the logic in my foundations and a total commonsensical cave-in had left my brain in chaos. His voice kept echoing in my head; that alternatively drawled then clipped intonation and those deep rich tones that accentuated each syllable:

"_I'll be gone for a day, perhaps two, no more."_

'No more' and here I was, it was now well into the early hours of that third day and I was still without my fiancé.

Well accustomed to burning the night-oil, my head should have been crystal clear, but now it was clouded and my hands shook… something was dreadfully wrong and I could feel it.

"Well, at least I'm not all by myself am I Toby? I went and got you, the two of us have a jolly good chance of finding him. Here, you have another good old sniff." Yet again I pushed Holmes' old knitted glove at the hound's nose and he once more obediently examined the article, then looked up wagging his tail, emphasizing his readiness to follow me and look for the scent.

"Of course we'll just stay here for ten more minutes, he may suddenly turn up, he often does that you know, quite out of the blue and when one least expects it. He once actually came back from the dead, after three whole years … can you believe that … three years and there he was, in our sitting-room dressed like a book-seller, it completely bowled me. Bet he wouldn't have fooled you eh?" Toby again wagged his tail and I fussed him some more. "Of course, there was also that time on the moor, didn't expect him then either. You see, he has this knack of leaving a girl in the dark and it's no good doing anything about it because that would mean changing him and I like him just the way he is thank you. Besides all the mystery part of the excitement and he is rather exciting."

I froze, suddenly aware of what had been evident for years, "He's always been rather exciting, I've just never said it aloud before… dash-it and I'm very much in love. It's not even just a friendship thing anymore, this time it's quite serious. It's my own fault, I've allowed myself to … well … 'drown in his eyes' … that's what they say isn't it, well I've gone and done it and it's not helped one bit. I should have selected someone more reliable, someone with nice blue eyes and a somewhat sunnier disposition, not a chap who shouts in glee when there's a murder in the papers and keeps jars with pickled body parts in the downstairs lavatory. Daddy would not have approved Toby, not at all."

Having slumped during this declaration, Toby now lay down and placed his head on my feet, softy moaning to himself and licking my boots. I went on regardless, "I suppose I've rather got used to him, faults and all. He's like this old glove, with lots of holes, nice and familiar but not warm at all." I held it up to the gaslight and Toby stood again, though now somewhat grudgingly. "I absolutely can't swap him for someone better, he fits me far too well, but he's always going missing, even when I make sure he's nicely placed, he just goes off and it's always dashed awkward finding him again. I could insist he takes me, but every time brother Mycroft calls I get dropped like hot coal, you see it's always rather hush, hush and top secret between the Holmes's."

I suddenly stood, my mind made-up, " No, I sharn't let Mycroft bugger things up even more, I'll have him back here and now, dash that family and their little Queen and country schemes. Come on Toby," I tied a small leather leash onto his collar, "I've got a fair idea where he's gone. His cane and Captain Basil hat are missing, that can only mean he's lurking about the docklands and sleeping in the bolt-hole were he keeps the rest of that costume, or he's bribing someone for information in one of those dreadful taverns…"

…..

_**I'm so sorry this has been very late posting, truth is my last laptop was close to dying and so I got this new one, but it didn't come with Microsoft Word. I've had to wait until January's payday to splash out for the word-processing software. Sadly they don't sell Word 3 anymore, so I've got this new fangled version that doesn't seem to like it plain and simple, plus the fact that I'm driving it all on Windows 8 … which hasn't been easy … frankly writing anything has been an uphill battle!**_

_**Thank you everyone who has reviewed so far, especially those who told me the name of their home town, my new hobby is finding obscure locations about the world and investigating them with Goggle **__** (I don't get out enough I know.)**_

_**I'm posting a new series this weekend and would like to ask everyone who reads Miss Watson to also look into her Diaries, it's about how she meets Holmes and eventually moves into Baker Street. **_

_**Tegan**_


	23. Time and Tide Part Three

**_Sorry, but this chapter was supposed to be much longer. Unfortunately, because I'm so busy preparing children for their Art exam next week, it's a case of it being bunged-in like this or not at all. I can't possibly miss my own deadline, so here it is ... with a bit more next week: D_**

**_ooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO000000000OOOOOOOOOO oooooooooooooo_**

**_Time and Tide_**

**_Part Three_**

It is simply not worth embracing the beauty of Scotland unless one has endured a journey through a truly miserable bleak mist, of course merging it with bogs and damp heather made it extra wretched. My childhood was full of such pleasures, but of course that was all mere fairy dust compared to a proper London fog. Unlike the easy flow of a Scottish mist, the white murky blanket that engulfed London abstracted the landscape and made foreign navigation almost impossible. To walk through a London fog was to transverse a series of deceptive drapes; some translucent, others opaque, some laced with details or oddments of reality and each patch defined by the light that played off the moon or the gas lamps. It also presented ripe pickings for local criminals as it muted common-sense, so eyes and brains where useless, one had to navigate by trained ears or just simple luck.

However in my case it was a rather reliable hound with a notorious nose and the sense of direction that only animals process. Never-the-less, at one point Toby seemed to be taking me in decreasing circles and deeper into the most dangerous part of the city... the Thames.

Quite often during Sherlock Holmes's numerous and diverse lectures, I was reliably informed that the London docklands were never safe, particularly at night and defiantly not in the light of day. However he did concede that it was during the early hours of the morning those 'perfidious provinces' were actually at their least dangerous, but still quite firmly 'not suitable for decent females such as yourself' and to be an avoided at all costs. Six O'clock in the morning was perhaps the only time suitable for me to present myself here, considering that the average honest city-dweller was arriving to work and the average dishonest criminal had previously squirreled himself away to safely dispose of the previous night's plunder. Yet I felt uneasy enough, the dampness of the riverside reminded me of the rather unfortunate misadventure involving the infamous red dress. I was glad to have taken note of that episode and raided my wardrobe for something more reliable, I wore a long cloak that was able to disguise much of my femininity. If Holmes were here he would have insisted I dressed as a young boy, but then it was his absence that had instigated this desperate campaign in the first place.

Of course Toby added an extra dimension of safety, though I doubt he could do little but bark if I was actually accosted.

To be honest, I had not truthfully expected Toby to be of any use at all; it was akin to a needle in a haystack looking for Holmes in the docklands. Moreover, I did not have much experience with hunting or handling dogs, having opted out of the business of blood-sports as a child. It was blatantly evident that last time I encountered Toby Holmes had handled this creature far better than myself. However, once we had thoroughly explored and departed the small room Holmes used as his bolt-hole, Toby had shot off in a somewhat hap-hazard, though determined dash and took us through the north-side of the Thames, eventually arriving in Cannon street, not far from the river's edge and we were now circling a small group of empty warehouses.

"Here boy, what have you found eh? Go to it."

Toby moved from one door to another, it was clear that Holmes had been active in this area, though what he was doing and where he had disappeared to was still a mystery. The erratic sniffing continued for some minutes, I was unsure wither he had lost the scent or simply investigating it more deeply. Either way we needed to keep on the move, any stalling left me open to danger.

"Oh, for gods-sake Toby please get -on with it, your nose will drop off at this rate and I shan't dilly-dally about picking it up. Where is he boy eh? Go to it."

Toby looked upwards with an almost human air of long-suffering patience, then turned about abruptly and cocked his leg on the very post he had spent some minutes examining. Just as I was about to reprimand him he suddenly darted forward with extreme haste, pulling at the lead, "Toby slow down boy, halt ...heel, there's a good fellow." My lack of experience was now hampering matters, I was at great pain to keep pace with this creature and furthermore I had no idea how to communicate this. It was clear if I kept at this speed I was in danger of falling and injuring myself, it was also clear that Toby needed a more confident taskmaster. After much pulling he eventually came to a reluctant stop and feeling somewhat foolish I lowered myself to address him in the only way I knew. However a wet nose suddenly shot upwards and into my face, as I had seen where that nose had ventured I made every effort to avoid it, "get off Toby, stop that! Here, give me a paw. Now listen, there's a good boy, slow down, let's just find Holmes nicely, no broken legs or falling over agreed?"

Totally oblivious to my reasonable suggestion he barked in response, then resumed his efforts, dragging me forwards again and towards another blanket of fog that enclosed us in its whiteness.

"I swear Toby, if you're taking me to another peeing-post I'll have your hide..."

ooooooo0000000OOOOOOOOOOOOOO 0000000ooooooooooooo

**_Thank you to the kind reviewer who pointed out obvious mistakes with this chapter, I've made some slight adjustments accordingly and hopefully Miss Watson being 'counterproductive' makes more sense ... well perhaps not now but it will next week when her poor dog handling skills will become a plot device... thank you again. However I always maintain (as an opt-out that is) Miss Watson's world is often inconsistent. :D_**

**_Watson is behaving a little like Nigel Bruce here, I'll get her to come to some sense soon,( though I rather like Nigel's Watson.)_**

**_Readers get an extra point if they spot the hidden tribute to 'Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century." (Beth Lestrade ROCKS!)_**

**_Yes, this is just basically some silliness with Toby... I'll get my act together and post something sensible by April; meanwhile the second part of this silliness happens next week. This series was originally in 6-part format, but with all this silliness it is now looking more like an 8._**

**_Tegan._**


	24. Complimentary Colours

**Time and Tide Part Four.**

**Complimentary Colours**

**...**

"Toby, here boy, what have you found? Good lad."

An ancient wall loomed before us, standing like a fortress against the river's edge. It's soggy surface oozed dampness; what was once red brick had long been swallowed by an ever encroaching carpet of green, obviously some variety of string-algae or blanket weed. However Toby found the stuff fascinating and proceeded to sniff an invisible tail along its slimy surface. His tail helped swash away the particles of damp fog and I followed him with a somewhat determined resolution, if not boarding on hopeful desperation.

The morning sunlight was making an effort to burn away the fog; periodically its warm rays would cut through the curtain and show the clear view ahead, allowing me to gain some bearings on where Toby was guiding me. On such an occasion I happened to glace at the wall, (Toby's nose was now almost glued to it) and noticed an odd pattern of colour amongst the green. I stopped and knelt to investigate;

"Here boy, stay."

The dog ignored me and ran ahead.

"Dash-it Toby, **STAY!**"

The leather strap whipped tight and then easily slipped from my hold, allowing Toby to disappear entirely. I momentarily panicked and turned to grasp the solidness of the wall, it was then that the sunlight obliged by providing a small ray of light that shined directly at me, illuminating the stone structure. Amongst the lime green was the vivid red of the brick, or was it... it seemed to be melting. Red against the green, complimentary colours.

"Blood."

I said it aloud and to no-one but myself and yet quite distinctly a voice answered out of the fog.

"Oh dear, is it? A regrettable error on my behalf."

My brain screamed and my body froze, "who is that?"

Nothing.

Perhaps I had imagined the sound?

The white curtain closed as I backed further against the wall.

"I say, who is out there? Please show yourself."

Again there was nothing.

"I am armed, I have a gun." Indeed I did, Murray's heavy service revolver was now shaking quite violently in both my hands. I was at the point of questioning my own sanity when the voice cut through the curtain again;

"I do believe it's a female, oh my, this is delicious."

_Oh-christ it was real_. "Who are you?"

"A good question my dear, who are you and why are you trespassing?"

I tried in vain to locate the person by the sound direction, but the wall bounced his voice. My frustration was only doubled by the knowledge that Holmes would have found this exercise elementary.

"My name is Watson and I'm looking for a Mr Sherlock Holmes. I confess I am now lost, can you help me sir?"

"Good-lord, the female actually does belong to the detective. I do declare this is getting better and better."

"I say, this is dashed unfair. I have obliged you with my name sir, I would be grateful if you now tell me with whom am I conversing? Show yourself or god-help-me I'll shoot to defend, I am warning you."

" A contradiction in terms don't you think madam? One has to see what one is aiming as to make that threat actual. Now perhaps you should have said 'show yourself and I'll shoot', which is much more direct and clearly your intention."

"On the contrary sir, I promise not to harm..."

When the attack came, it was unexpectedly from below, my leg was pulled sideways and as I descended my face was smothered in a foul smelling cloth, there was no time to even cry in shock. When my arm was wrenched backwards the gun fired and I distinctly heard the bullet _ricochet_ off another wall.

"F_ar too easy._"

It was the last thing I heard before my mind gave into the powerful smell and a white mist far more intense than any London fog...

...

My childhood physical education instructor, (whom was saddled with the unfortunate name of Miss Allbottom) once warned us; 'should you be so unfortunate as to find yourself knocked out girls, always inspect yourselves afterwards and make certain all your belongings are correct, especially below.'

I vividly remember wanting to ask what 'belongings' referred to, this being a somewhat ambiguous reference and also below what? Of course I was told to sit on my hands again; actually throughout my early education the phrase, 'Watson, put that hand down immediately' endlessly echoed in my ears. However, her words later rang true. After the bullets in Afghanistan I did my first thorough examination of 'my belongings', despite my inability to move at the time. My second was after the first fever, the third was when I awoke to face the then somewhat odious Mr Holmes rather earlier in our companionship, then there was several other occasions when I regained consciousness with Holmes looming above me and I was obliged to do it all again out of habit.

Fortunately my belongings all seemed correct. Everything 'below' appeared normal, nothing felt sore or chaffed and my undergarments seemed to be intact and not torn. I was wearing more or less everything I remembered leaving Baker Street in, minus the cloak and for some obscure reason my right boot had gone, but my stockings remained untouched. No burses anywhere and only a feeling that my right heel was grazed, no doubt from being dragged across the floor.

Having satisfied myself on this account, my second instinct was to examine my surroundings; I was lying on a damp stone floor in what appeared to be a cellar of sorts. The only light came through the iron bars of the skylight, from which was hanging a bloodied body tied by the wrists. Lastly I noticed I was not alone, sitting on a chair in the centre of the room, just to the right of the hanging body was a small gentleman, smartly dressed and holding a silver cane in one hand and a glass of wine in his other.

...

...

_**Hello all and I am SO sorry about the VERY late up-date. Has it really been four months since my last post!?**_

_**My muse hasn't gone; it's just shamefully adulterous and likes to flirt with several stories at once. I now have four other Miss Watson pieces written, none of them connected with this story arch, with one rather naughty, shamefully shocking pillow-talk piece that has surpassed the T rating and is aiming for the M, god-knows where I'll eventually put that?**_

_**I'm also ashamed to admit that my muse has been hideously inconsistent in my other story series 'The Escapades of Miss Watson'. I've written all-sorts for The Escapades and none of it chronological, which is the point of that fanfiction. I actually have one finished piece that probably won't fit in there for at least another year... and that's if I can get my act together!**_

_**Truth is, after almost two years of writing Miss Watson I am still truly hopeless at all this writing lark and can't seem to follow my own rules at all. I'm all over the place, (as is Miss Watson!) With an arc that I'm tied **__**Prometheus-like to and can't seem to get out of the monotonous dread of sequential up-dates.**_

_**It's back to one-offs again for me as soon as I can for-fill my promises (and get rid of this series.)**_

_**Therefore this particular story may stretch out for more than six parts as was originally intended while I cope with the arduous task of finishing it.**_

_**O.K, I will promise to try and update much quicker, but I'm far too better at day-dreaming Miss Watson than writing her :D**_

_**Bravehearttegan**_


	25. Time and Tide Five, The Bull Pup

**Time and Tide Part Five,**

**The Bull Pup.**

...

You can smell death, even in the moments of its freshness and to a weary witness this scent has a vivid poignancy. Indeed it leaves a lasting memory and a distinct aroma that is never quite forgotten but often dreaded.

Yet my new surroundings lacked any such odour, other than the damp mould and the iron tinge of fresh blood, it all smelt typically of the river. With this in mind I concluded there was some hope yet for the hanging body that dominated the room and I allowed my natural instinct to pervade rational fear, "I say is that man alright, is there anything I can do?" I moved forwards.

The little fellow seated below the body tilted his head and held up his silver tipped cane, effectively stopping my progress and then smiled, taking a drink from a wine glass.

"Where am I sir and who are you? Why have I been kidnapped?" My mind did several calculations, height, weight, body mass, muscle distribution and came to the alarming conclusion that in all probability the hanging body before me was indeed that of my friend Sherlock Holmes.

" So many questions, female curiosity is always rather tiresome in general but when presented in such a delicious package, well one cannot help but be interested don't you think?" Oddly he seemed to be speaking to someone other than myself; I scanned the room in earnest.

"And you sir are either ignorant or rude, I demand an answer." I could distinctly hear breathing; there was indeed life yet in that motionless form, though hardly perceptible. However, my instincts told me that the barely audible breaths may also originate from another source.

"I feel obliged to point out the blatantly obvious, that you are in no position to demand anything child, but you seem somewhat stubborn and I am in the mood for a little amusement." The sat back in his chair and sighed with an air of the long suffering, "life has become so excessively tiresome; even the taking of such is so absolutely finite and therefore quite dull." He raised his cane and prodded the body, "I do declare the populace of this dirty little island of yours are far droller alive, like this little specimen here, all beautifully terrified, it rather gives her a sudden temperament don't you think? Extreme emotion is somewhat lacking overall in the english breed. Look here, notice the red cheeks and flushed neck, the size of her pupils, accelerated breathing, splendid... absolutely splendid." He laughed, took another taste of wine and turned to address me, "now, where were we? Oh yes, I had to answer some annoying questions, but in what order of importance. Dear me, what was that first one again... oh yes." The cane again prodded, "are you dead yet old fellow?"

The limp form twitched, the cane was applied once more until the body swung face around and my heart almost stopped as I gazed at the mass of raven black hair.

"Holmes!" It was a cry of desperation.

Again I involuntary moved forward, but this time without care and consequently came to a sudden halt as the cane lashed with severe violence against the right side of my face.

"Stop that at once! We will have no contact madam, do you hear? Do not touch or talk to him until I specifically instruct it."

"Please."

" No get back." He took a deep breath as though calming his own temper, "patience my dear, the poor fellow has been through a somewhat arduous ordeal, no point in asking him to indulge in a little female tête-à-tête. Besides, surely your mama taught you it is bad form to throw oneself about, especially when a chap is rather helpless." He examined his glass, seeming disappointed that a measure of wine had spilt, "indeed I feel quite obliged to protect my old friend. Hands off my dear and I'll have none of those foolish female tears, so don't start. That's it, move away... a little more and remember, try that again and next time I'll leave a scar."

"Please, I beg you sir..."

"Good-grief, are you always so insistent?"

" HOLMES!"

The silent body gently swung while the rope squeaked against the metal bars above.

"I say, you simply won't be told, one would think to listen to good advice. Mind-you, this is all dashed stimulating, one seldom sees a act of pathetic desperation, only greed these days; yes, geed, greed, greed and then stupidity. I suppose you could be allowed to go on and beg a little more, god knows I may yet feel pity and relent," his gaze moved to the lower part of my body and he licked his lips, "perhaps if you offered me something in return."

I stood tall, gathering my long skirts and dignity about me but ready for battle, "you, you bastard!"

He smiled and finished the glass, placing it carefully on the floor next to his chair. Then he leaned forward, resting a fat chin on top of the cane, a set of little bright eyes began to examine me with open interest.

I pretended a false manner of professionalism, "I can see he is alive yet, if you had any decency you would cut his hands free and bring him down, I only intend to monitor his heart and breathing, it will take but a moment." Then I leapt forward in a sudden effort to reach his discarded glass, hoping this sudden attack from a new direction would be unanticipated. My intent was to break the crystal and use it as a weapon, yet his boot came down and easily secured then kicked it away. I then turned, preparing for a second attack and to use my nails on his face, but he had moved out of my striking distance and against the wall. Then my feet were suddenly pulled from under me once again and in an identical manner than before, but this time I braced my arms against the stone floor to avoid the impact. Someone else was in the room and although my wind had now been taken I turned and rallied against this new adversary, I would not be fooled a second time. A set of strong arms locked my legs together, though my hands were free and my nails furiously lashed out at whatever flesh I could reach.

"Oh my, this female is wonderful, what a spirited little vixen, where the devil did you find her Sherlock?"

My legs eventually came free and I started kicking for all I was worth.

"Gosh ... I say Godfrey you oaf, pin her down, she's escaping."

This 'oaf' now had hold of my hair and was attempting to force my head back.

I twisted and bit the pulling arm.

"Ow...bitch, cum ere."

"A guinea on her reaching the door Godfrey, two on her through it."

The arm eventually pulled away, nearly taking my front teeth with it and I suddenly found myself free. Leaping upwards I managed to reach Holmes and began grasping at the ropes that tied his hands, then looking desperately for a pulse.

"Dash-it, that was rather disappointing, how regrettably female not to bolt away. Godfrey pull her off him there's a fellow."

"Does I get me wager?"

"You let her go deliberately for sport, mores the pity, she was rather capable herself without such a lugging great oaf toying with her."

" Please let me get him down dam-you, he may need help to breathe." As my hands were being ripped away I reversed the direction of their energy, (Holmes had taught me this early on in our acquaintance,) therefore allowing the oaf's pull and now my thrust to land an elbow squarely in his face. He staggered backwards and I slowly turned, standing between them both and Holmes, then for the first time since a child I allowed my mind and body to become my temper. An animalistic growling sound filled the room and I was vaguely aware that my teeth were bared and my hands had become claws; the bull pup was unleashed.

"Watson no."

It was a mere whisper but we all froze, even the oaf Godfrey hesitated and looked towards the body.

"Holmes?"

His head slowly rose to reveal a beaten and bloodied face, "keep calm old girl."

The little fellow pooped his head forward, though he pointed his cane at me, "not dead yet Sherlock, how bloody inconvenient, ah-well, there's plenty of time for that later, now do carry-on my dear." He moved back with a measure of amusement, waiting for my next move, however my rage had dissipated quickly, blanketed by relief I turned and flung myself again at the limp form of my fiancé.

"Oh dash-it, just when the fun was about to start. You know you always had that annoying habit of pissing on another fellow's hell-fire Sherlock, even as a boy. Never any fun rooming with Sherlock Holmes, never any dashed fun at all; always got that bloody great nose of his in another fellows business, always knowing, always prying, always bloody right." He flopped himself back into the chair rather dissatisfied, "very well, yes my dear, do take the rather sagacious advice of our great detective friend here, we wouldn't want Godfrey to break you already now would we?" The oaf Godfrey grunted and moved back into the shadows. "If we all act sensibly then everyone will just live that little bit longer and no-one will die horribly... well not yet at least." He straightened his jacket and adjusted his cufflinks, "besides, I have one or two little questions myself, quid-pro-quo my child, quid-pro-quo."

However I was now quite insensible to them, hugging Holmes' lower body far too hard for his current delicate state and with total abandonment, I buried my head in the smell of tobacco and cinnamon, carefully concealing my very foolish female tears.

oooooooooooooooo000000000000000OOOOOOOOOOOOOO00000 00000000ooooooooooo

_**YAY... go Watson! I SO wanted to give her a bit of action and this was my first proper 'fighting' sequence, (can't say it was easy to write.) However she's dreadfully in love and I can't seem to pull her off Holmes, she should have made a bolt for the door and escaped... oh well, she's a Watson after-all, stand steadfast, chin up and all that. Indeed, I rather like 'fighting Watson' and may use her again.**_

_**The above comes written curtsey of Argos (named after the Greek 'Argolis' I assume and not the British catalogue store?) and her sister Arnia (are these real names or character names because they are wonderful?) who reviewed and nagged me (requested) an 'asap' up-date on my other story this week, (I do listen!) Sadly I was unable to respond in private to your nice review as you came as a guest; firstly I must apologise for not writing an 'Escapades' chapter, but I have to be in a 'jolly good' mood to write that particular piece of fiction and I've been feeling somewhat down in the dumps of late. My best friend and constant companion of 15 years Katherine Kirk, (a lovely little Scottish Terrier) died suddenly and took part of me with her, consequently I have not been answering reviews... or writing... or walking... There will be no asap in 'The Escapades.' Anyways, hope you like this little snippet as compensation and please send my 'love' back to your sister**_

_**However I'm back with Miss Watson and she's out fighting! **_

_**Thank you also to Arty Diane and Book Girl Fan for your ever present company and understanding.**_

_**I am trying to complete this story- arc before Christmas, that will allow me to send another 'Christmas special'... mind-you it could be a new year special at my pace... or an Easter surprise ;D**_

_**As always please leave re-views/ advice/ suggestions/ corrections/ reminders/ prompts and encouragement as they are always acted upon... and cheer me up. **_

_**Tegan**_


	26. The Six Moves

_**Time and Tide Part Six,**_

_**Six Moves.**_

_**...**_

"My dear child, if we are to have a respectable tête-à-tête you simply must let go of poor Sherlock and sit down." He motioned to the floor, though he sat back comfortably in the chair himself and waved his silver cane aimlessly in the air. "I cannot possibly concentrate while you are wrapped around his legs in such a manner, it's dashed peculiar and a trifle distracting."

"Very well, but if you actually let him down I promise you I will sit and talk nicely on whatever subject takes your fancy and for however long you please."

" Bless-me, you do persist in this boldness. May I remind you, for-err- well I believe the second time, you are in no position to bargain child. Indeed, you only have my good grace for your continued existence. But I do like to make proper sport of it all, no point in just killing without some game, something to amuse the brain; otherwise the whole show would be rather dull." He set his cane carefully aside and rubbed his hands together, "as I am in a superior position to dictate events, it would be most advisable to do what I ask, so sit down. Yes, thank you. Now, you want to bargain for Sherlock's life and I must say I actually do appreciate a noble cause, then there is the fine art of negotiation; but what to haggle over my dear?" He scratched his chin and made a fair dramatic show of consideration, "oh well, perhaps I should consider what we can offer you? Now what do females like these days...it is all so difficult, not ever having to please one before, of course one can never tell your likes and dislikes. One becomes so used to just paying and getting the goods err, well presented so to say. I know, I know- but dash-it how can I put it so the bargain is most convincing? Let me see," he learned forward and smiled kindly, "Madam, you either tell me what I want or you die, oh and Sherlock dies too." He laughed aloud at his own humour, slapping his thighs with cheer.

" Which one of im goes first?"

"Oh-no, I do say, dashed if I forgot that bit Godfrey," he then dragged his fat palm across his forward in mock desperation. "Who to kill first? Such an agonising decision. No-no, that one is easy, the little whore first as she will be more fun, but slowly... oh quite deliciously slowly. Then the detective, he's been half dead for hours so therefore will be less fun, but a nice desert. Fete accompli, have I made myself clear?"

I slumped quite beaten, but still managed to hold my chin aloft, "yes, you have made yourself perfectly clear sir, what would you like to know?"

" Actually there is very little you can declare to entertain me, however just a simple answer to some small questions may appease, it would certainly prolong your miserable little life."

I was quite prepared to prolong my miserable life as long as possible, if only to ensure Holmes stayed alive too.

"Ah, a brave face and no doubt a following bouquet of lies, women seldom change. I suppose I shall now have to be clever and make an effort to phrase my questions judiciously." He smiled again and shifted from side to side in his chair.

" I will do my best to answer your questions truthfully sir."

"Oh-my, what a beautifully considered response, allowing herself a moment for consideration and giving that little female brain time to work itself into the warmness for the challenge. I say, this is better chess indeed, with such a sweet thing too. Sherlock, your little whore here is pleasure, far more unpredictable than yourself." He moved his hand in mid- air as though there where an invisible structure before him, "my knight stands ready and I face the queen before her King. Difficult move, however I may check in two." Then he stopped shifting and settled, looking at me with deliberation, "I see you are a bitch on heat, I can smell you from here" he sniffed the air, "looking for dear Sherlock for a little rutting eh? Want to mount him now, of course Godfey and I will have to watch, but perhaps you would like that."

I instantly coloured and started to rise from the floor," how dare you sir, certainly not!"

" Then why would you follow him if not for sport. Admittedly he is a skinny little runt, always was and he lacks friends. So what is your game eh... a paid government spy?"

" A spy? I have no idea what you mean." I was now crimson, but giving nothing more away. Indeed I intended to tell the truth as much as possible.

"Ah, two was definitely an underestimation; shame I am running short on time. Six perhaps? " He stood and began to pace, "you have certainly had intimate relations with our friend here, why else would you cling to him with such familiarity. Of course I need to determine wither you are provided by Whitehall as say 'a little light entertainment', or are you a paid a professional and working alone? In other words are you a government agent or a common whore?"

Holmes once told me; 'a proud female can always be rattled with an allegation of adultery,' and although successfully 'rattled' I marshalled my countenance and endeavoured a look of complacently, "Mr Holmes has always been a kind gentleman and he would never take advantage. I have never been to Whitechapel, but I have read some quite dreadful things about the place, I can assure you sir that I am not a prostitute." I reached up to grab a warm leg from above me, "we have always had an understanding, but nothing more, as you can see I am terribly in love and would die for this gentleman."

" And so you shall my dear, so you shall. Make no mistake child, I do comprehend that you can distinguish between Whitehall and Whitechapel and not just in geography logic. Let me see, I've three more questions left," he looked upwards, "so, you are a Watson then, perhaps a sibling of the infamous Stand fellow?"

"Yes, you are right, my brother John acquired a medical degree, I am a nurse," there was no effort here in deception. "I am also rather good at poetry, short stories, historical fiction and work occasionally on small articles pertaining to health and fitness. Of course I also do surgery as a theatre nurse and there are my ward duties..."

"My dear girl, you are quickly becoming a bore, stalling is all well and good but I may just kill you if you grow tiresome. So far we have learned very little. Let me see; you have a far more interesting brother and a devotion to the detective, no not much, not much at all." He shook his head and seemed to mull over his next words carefully, "I had an older brother once and he was rather a colourful character too, but more the malevolent type as he had a quite cruel streak to his nature." There was now a certain melancholy tint to his voice. "Our sibling rivalry was always ongoing, though I was a mere student in his presence, he the master. He even had me as his little slave at school; we were all fags to the prefects, fags or bum-boys." He leaned forward in confidence, "and not just me but Sherlock here too; you see we both roomed together," he softly chuckled "and Sherlock got it through association. Though my dear brother was a little more vicious with him, always the boot or a cigar burn." He looked up at Holmes almost wistfully, "it was good to watch the beatings again today, brought back such fond memories old-boy. Regrettably poor Godfey is an amateur, not quite what you were used to eh?" His eyes no longer engaged with mine but looked to a distance, "my brother was the real professional and a virtuoso at torture. Ah the scalding of dear Sherlock, almost a joy to watch as have it inflicted, almost... the joy was quite ... unspeakable."

I was at this point so suitably revolted and disturbed; I simply could not help myself from showing open shock. Not that I was naive, I had worked with the army and I was intimately aware of many deprived forms of torture that were inflicted under the banner of war. However I was just unprepared for the rawness of information.

He politely waited for my breathing to regulate, but went on, "but my dear brother was not quite as perverted as Mycroft, was he old boy? You would never think it if you knew him now, but Mycroft was once quite a sexually capricious fellow and with a parchment for the gardeners. He had one fellow up for buggery, do you know what that means my dear? Oh, I say, I have to take that question back, don't want you to think it one of my last two. But let us just say Mycroft knew the fellow rather too well, rumours will fly at school and we all had it that Mycroft paid a pretty penny for the chaps... err 'services'."

I remembered my first shock in seeing an open battle wound, bloody, rotten and festering.

"Enough!"

We both looked up to see Holmes had brought his head up again and was now staring with a look of intense hatred.

"Oh but I was just warming old boy, your little whore here has no doubt heard it all before. Dash-me, if she's not quite fired up already, see that colour in her cheeks."

"This heat is in frustration sir, I am waiting for you to crease all this nonsense and ask me a proper question."

He ignored me and starred back at Holmes. "Brother-dear is quite dead now, they made short work of him five years ago, shot while attempting to steal military documents from a government office." He rose up and grabbed at his cane again raising it, menacingly over his head, "whose office was he stealing from eh? And by coincidence whose bullet was it?"

I also stood, positioning myself between Holmes and the cane. Yet he continued to shout over my shoulder, "my brother was never a common thief, he had more style. Mycroft's little agents had him set up; Mycroft himself lured him into Whitehall, probably hoping for a quick jump..."

"Poppycock, Mycroft Holmes is one of the most upright and respectable gentleman in my acquaintance..." I stopped dead, the look of sheer pleasure on his face meant that I had given away some vital information.

"Mycroft Holmes eh. Ha, check-mate! And with two moves left!" He suddenly sat back down and laughed himself breathless. "That temper of yours is rather useful indeed my dear, I do believe you are more shocked at a Holmes family scandal than how incredulous it is to have a brother actually called 'Mycroft.' No-one except a family of lunatics would consider 'Sherlock' and ' Mycroft' as children's names." He looked closer at my face, "but you know that Sherlock actually has such a brother and in a position of power. No-no my dear, you know exactly who Mycroft is and what game he plays... check-mate!"

"I have no idea what you are jabbering-on about." It was clear irony that I was telling the absolute truth, this man was making very little sense at all.

"Mycroft sent you, oh look the innocent will you, but I know what he is capable of. A bloody women is a dashed low, rather smacks of desperation, but still we mustn't be complacent, what with government agents crawling everywhere one can never be too careful."

Holmes had begun convulsing in a series of worrying coughs, so my mind was somewhat distracted, but I was determined to keep up the conversation regardless, "but Mr Holmes works in records, he likes nothing more than cake and quiet, you must have it all wrong sir."

He ignored me, "I think a plan of escape is needed, that however that would require shifting the lot through the docks... no, no, that won't do at all. Perhaps... I say, it's dashed difficult to think down here." He kicked the chair aside and started for the door. "I shall return in a moment madam, just a little fresh air... yes fresh air and another glass."

As I waited for the thud of the door to slowly die in echoes, I also caught the grate of laboured breathing. So turning to make another attempt to free Holmes I was thoroughly alarmed to come face to face with the greasy countenance of the oaf Godfrey, his foul breath had quickened and the beady little eyes held mine in look of manic intensity.

"What av we ere then, a pretty bit o skirt, an all alone..."

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_**This bit is a bridge; it will lead to a piece I wrote months ago that I will hopefully find and finish next week. I am determined to have this story completed by Easter!**_

_**... of course lots an lots an lots of reviews will make me work much faster ;D **_

_**Tegan.**_


	27. The Dogs

_**The Time and Tide Part Seven**_

_**The Dogs.**_

_**...**_

"Wot a beauty, I cud tup an ore like you right ere, ya legs would be raggin, an a belly-full for sure."

My heart was racing, but I was determined not to show any fear and deliberately stood tall, speaking with a dignified clarity, "so much as touch me you oaf and I'll rip your eyes balls out with my bare hands and teeth." I showed him my nails; well what was left of them, they had been diminishing severely following all my recent nail-biting moments.

"Fearful frozen I am darlin, cum ere an feel me ardness." In a somewhat vulgar gesture, he pointed to his groin.

Suddenly there was a commotion in the centre of the room and I tensed in anticipation of a blow from the cane, only to realise it was Holmes was making a grand effort to distract the oaf. It was a brave attempt at animation; he was weakly pulling at his restraints, gritting his teeth and snarling.

Instinctively I moved to calm and shield him, shifting backwards, "it's quite all-right Holmes, this-this gentleman was just leaving. Please just go sir."

"Not afore a cuddle." He reached out grabbing my wrist and swung me against the wall, easily dodging Holmes' vain attempt to kick out. "Lets ave ya bitch, christ you're a slippery one. Wot's under that skirt eh?"

"Watson."

"A pretty bit o flesh, an fancy lace too, I likes a gud bit o lace me." He had pushed me against the wall and I was quite trapped, having put myself at a disadvantage attempting to protect Holmes, my arms were easily caught and locked above my head. As my assailant was almost twice my strength, struggling seemed rather useless and potentially harmful. I desperately tried to think myself into a greater advantage, but concern for Holmes seemed to be blocking what little logic my adrenaline was allowing my brain to use; there was indeed some profit to be had from cold-bloodedness and I envied Holmes his pure deductive reason.

It was sheer instinct that now schooled me into holding still and as I did nothing, he pinned me below him while his rough hands invaded my undergarments. I could only hope that this assault would not result in a deeper invasion of my virtue. Frankly I needed time to think calmly.

"Ya like that eh, I can feels ya all ot."

"Christ Jane…"

"Animal!" Lost for strategy and totally humiliated I eventually lashed out and kicked for all I was worth, not quite my 'bull-pup' temper but if he wanted to feel more then it would cost him a few cuts and bruises.

"Little ell-cat too, you'll pay for that." He had pursed to nurse a scratch on his eye, but remained above me.

"And you sir are nothing but a dog. Your masters waiting for you to heal, you had better run to him."

"Aye a dog, an I'll lick your arse."

"Get off..."

"Jane listen, just close your eyes and ignore him, stop kicking and wait, he'll loose interest."

"She'll hav that with a toff, but a real man as got er beggin. Ot an beggin for it aint ya bitch?" I closed my eyes while his hand had left my inner thigh and now pulled at the ribbon holding my drawers in place. "Lets see a bit o flesh then."

"Now Jane…"

On Holmes' call I brought my knee upwards, aiming for his groin and landing what I thought was a quite accurate blow with the maximum amount of damage. Indeed, his member was impossible to miss; it being quite vast with excitement, he grunted loudly and his face appeared to turn purple, there would certainly be no more action from that direction for several hours.

"Ah-ah-ah, arrrhhhggggguuuuhhhh…. blooming ore!"

"Defense Watson, a wounded animal is dangerous."

"My, my you are suddenly dashed loquacious," I broke free and pushed the oaf away from me, "but do be quiet, I'm trying to think." Since my friend was useless except for his legs, I moved myself within their striking distance.

"The door..."

"And leave you here, not likely."

"You'll pay bitch..." Godfrey started to limp forward, clutching his trousers. However he had walked into my trap, as his hand grasped my arm a booted foot landed squarely in his face. It was testament to Holmes' frailness that the kick was not as deadly as it should have been and merely stunned our assailant; he staggered downwards and against the wall dragging me with him again.

Then the door to the cellar suddenly bust open, "oh for gods sake Godfrey get off the floor and let her go, I need you upstairs, the dirty work is your department not mine."

"The bloody bitch as got me. I'm done for sure."

"Serves you right you little fag, she's done the world a favour, no more little shits to be fathered. Now just get upstairs before I stop your wages, those crates need moving and quickly."

" I'll ave you bitch, see if I don't," his voice was now several decibels higher, "waits tell I gets back."

"I doubt it, the tide will soon deprive you of this pretty creature, it's about to turn and flood our little abode. Another good reason to depart, I certainly do not appreciate damp feet, these shoes are new and my tailor's rather particular about any damage to my trousers. So let's leave these two love birds to the Thames eh."

"Rot bitch." Godfrey spat at me, then turned to leave, still holding his legs. As he passed Holmes he suddenly lashed out and punched at his groin, "have some toff."

"Now, now Godfrey, leave the dead their dignity." He moved towards Holmes, prodding him with the cane. "Good-bye old boy, sharn't hang about until Mycroft sends in the cavalry, though it has all been mildly interesting. I am somewhat disappointed though, rather expected a better show from the great detective; you're getting a touch sloppy with age. No-doubt you need that Doctor fellow to do any real good." He came towards me and laid his hand on my chin, "however you my dear provided a fascinating distraction, more so than our fiend here. Dashed-shame we have to rush, I do have occasional need of a fiery beauty such as yourself and the paying whores are riddled with scabs. As an artist, one always feels despairing with the destruction of perfection, however Holmes here has spoilt you already, I can smell his filthy scent on you even now." He moved in and took a deep breath, his nose close to my neck. "Still, you are somewhat delightful… dear-me, I am forgetting myself, I must be going, time and tide wait for no man."

Then the door slammed behind him and a lock snapped into place rather loudly.

Holmes finally let out a long groan, "good-god Jane, that last one hurt … Toby, tell me you have Toby?"

"Christ Sherlock, I thought you were half dead if not a corpse."

"Not quite, I have been holding back old-girl. Toby Watson?"

"Dam-you Holmes, you'll have me drop dead on pure fret one day, I do wish you would stop playing dead or dying!"

"Toby?!"

"The dog?... this is not the time to enquire about pets, I-I lost him. I'm sorry he dragged me all the way here than I'm dashed if he just buggered-off. We both know I'm a bit useless with animals."

"No, you are damed useful. I would appreciate some help with these ropes, my reserves are not limitless."

"Hang-on a tick, the oaf has left me all undone…"

"Hanging is all I seem to be good for at present, are you alright?"

"Oh, I am fine, more importantly are you alright? Here let me look, turn to the light." He was tied to the iron grid of a skylight, his arms pulled tight upwards and his body hung, though his height meant that his feet almost touched the floor. They had stripped him to his shirt sleeves, but the white cotton was now covered in red blood and his pale skin was mottled with cuts and angry welt marks. "Your ligaments and muscle tissue will be stretched; those Flexors will be quite useless for a day or two and all the joints will hurt. Some of the whip cuts will need stitches, my god that must have been long lash and with some sort of point attached to the end?"

"Godfrey, he evidently likes to humiliate his pray. It was a cabbies crop, he kept a distance, didn't trust my feet, even to tie them. I deduce a shoe nail on the tip, you know he really was a rather unpleasant fellow and I am most dreadfully sorry he touched you, that was not part of my calculations."

"It's not your fault, I knew the risks when I came looking. Are you calculating all this? I hope our odds improve because this is currently looking decidedly disastrous."

"Well that all depends."

"Hum, it always does, I suppose yet again I'm to be told of these calculations as they unfold. These ropes will never shift," I picked up the discarded chair, at least that would help me see the knots on a level. "I say, you now look a little more in pain, did that last punch especially hurt or are your reserves running out? Dash-it, I suppose I shall have to check for internal injuries."

"No-no, no need, that last punch ... I should have anticipated it. I assumed he would only target my upper body, that he no longer had use of his legs to kick. Punching below the belt is a cads-game, I should have known."

"Holmes, cease berating yourself, we simply don't have the time. I presume you would rather die than let me remove your trousers and investigate the damage. Are there any more broken bones? Actually I rather think you have been lucky with just the one fracture."

"A fracture? I rather thought I was mostly alright, except for that last punch and no I'd rather keep my trousers on thank you. I have been feigning half-dead for at least five hours, dashed easy as Godfrey believed himself rather heavy handed, however the fellow is a wimp with a whip and no doubt that is why he uses the shoe-nail. There was that initial blow to the back of my head when the chloroform failed, but no fractures. I have been exaggerating the impact of that blow; they would certainly have killed me if I posed an active danger."

"These ropes are impossible."

"Yes, you may need to look for something sharp instead and rather rapidly; I do believe that is Thames water about your feet. You mentioned a fracture?"

"I'm afraid you have a broken nose, probably numb with your head being held forward and the change in blood-flow from all this hanging, I'll have to set it right again once you are free, dashed if I wed you looking like a flat pancake. There's very little in the way of sharp in this place and yes that waters coming in jolly fast."

"We may only have fifteen minutes."

"Do you think these ropes would sever if I rubbed them against the iron grate?"

"No, look for something sharp or new or recent, those grates have river slime."

"But everything down here has river slime, including me!" I vainly brushed away some green ragweed and damp from my hair.

"It is all tidal, you do look a tad like Benthesikyme Jane, she was rather beautiful too. Have you accounted for the discarded wine glass?"

"Yes, the glass! Dash-it, I wish there was more light, at least that gaunt frame of yours is letting some through." I began a proper examination of the cellar, increasingly aware of my legs sloshing in the raising water. "You are wrong Holmes, I look a mess, my boots are soaked and my legs are damp, we both know how I hate water, so please tell me nicely this great scheme you have in operation to break us out, because frankly I'm open to any suggestions… any? "

He shot a furtive look at the locked door, "There is no 'breaking out' Watson and I'm telling you the absolute truth for once, it is only right I should say it now. You have always been rather beautiful, everywhere, including those damp legs."

"You have not seen 'everywhere' yet! I don't like this Holmes, you are being jolly nice ... and to my legs. That head wound must be more serious than we thought, or your reserves are draining and turning you do-lally." I twisted to look him in the eyes, "or you really do think we are done for? No-no I don't believe you, there has to be a way to get out, dash-it Sherlock, you are frightening me."

"Iron door bolted securely from the outside, there's also another locked door beyond, I could distinctly hear the key being used. As you can see, there are no windows in here, the gridded sky-light above could have been a possibility, but unfortunately I am hanging from it and my weight is quite adequately securing it in place. Our captors are just departing by growler, three of them in total, with two horses and a heavy cargo, no doubt the strong boxes containing that hefty deposit made by the Belgium government to the Bank of England. The yard above will be quite deserted considering the turn in tide, we are at the mouth of the river and it can reach at least ten feet above this room at high tide. The water is now at your knees, at this rate I would have to re-calculate and give us only eight minutes of air. No Jane, as far as finding a way out, well I am afraid I am short of options old-girl."

As he spoke blood began to dribble out of his nose and across his chin.

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_**After receiving 15 reviews from Ashamed Guest (ashamed of what... do tell :D ) I thought I had better make an effort... :) Frankly I'm totally untrustworthy and cannot allow myself to promise a next post.**_

_**Please mail me if you see any errors and remember that these tales get posted without a beta, I rely on other fangirls (and boys) to rescue me from the utter humiliation of the 'typo'.**_

_**Tegan**_


	28. Cold Blood

_**Time and Tide Part Eight**_

_**Cold Blood.**_

...

"Dear-god Holmes, that nose of yours looks worse than I thought, it's bleeding."

"Is it?" His eyes moved downwards in an almost comical and somewhat redundant cross-eyed squint, then he looked sharply upwards again, "no, no, cease fussing women, keep looking for that wine glass, I assure you I am quite well."

I continued to slosh my legs about, "I am not entirely looking for it, more akin to 'fishing' and without decent bait! It is dashed difficult you know, this dammed water is half-way up to my knees," I looked down at them, "even in this bloody awful light I can assure you they are quite purple with the cold."

"You are quite the foul-mouthed harpy at times Jane and 'purple' knees? I can quite imagine your knees, yes and your legs, all purple, red and a bit white too." His head was moving loosely from side to side, "shapely but not quite plump; I do believe I would rather like them."

"As I said before, would you please keep that brilliant mind of yours off my legs and on- I've found it, what good luck!"

"Found what-oh good girl, a smart fellow never needs luck, just a sharp memory and determination. Quickly, over here, no-no break it on the railings my dear-girl, make certain the angle of its impact is on the metal bar, it will give you a controlled divide and moreover make sure you strike just above the base of the bowel. Mind-you keep a firm grip on the top of the steam, we can't afford to lose it again."

"The wall seems a safer option; very well close your eyes and turn your head aside, there you go."

"Ha, as I said a nice sharp point, now do your best my sweet, charming girl."

"Ow, sharp both ends, it's chipped at the base too, dashed cut my finger."

"Feeble female you are, here tear a little of my shirt and use it as a handle, those hands are beautiful, we absolutely must protect them."

"Will you cease all this maudlin worship Holmes, a lady likes to use some part of herself without constant appreciation!" I looked him in the eye, "you are not normal and if the light was better I would check your pupils for dilation, those eyes are looking especially dark."

"Agreed, the lack of light in here is not helping matters."

"Hum, gosh this shirt is ripped into little shreds, close to impossible to find a large bit and not covered in blood. Here, your collar-pin will do, brace yourself..."

"I say, you are dammed good at ripping the shirt off a fellow."

"Be quiet and you can stop that self-indulgent grin, some of us are trying to concentrate." I covered the glass and began to rub away at his ropes.

"All this serious deliberation makes you look quite beautiful Jane. You know, you should have stayed in Baker Street and sent Lestrade, although your fortitude was predicted, this solitary quest of yours was the outcome I least desired."

"Still calculating all this?"

"With variables yes."

"And do we have a chance?"

He looked upwards to avoid my intense gaze, "there have admittedly been some random actions which I should have accounted for, indeed I blame myself for-"

"Poppycock! We all make mistakes."

"No I do not, I am usually more cautious, especially when you are a component in such reasoning. I should have eliminated all assumptions and accounted for the necessity of fixing random disturbance factors in the whole equation-" he stopped himself mid-sentence and looked rather intently at me, "though in retrospect there have been other occasions where I should have altered my reasoning. My grand schemes do not always work fluently when you become an active ingredient."

"Well, I am sure there are many things that we both should have done differently. If it is of any consolation I am rather positive that our mutual 'grand plans' are now rather futile." I pretended to concentrate on hacking away at his ropes, but took the opportunity to confess my own regrets, "actually once I realised I rather liked you – well liked you very much, more than a friend that is, well I should have certainly not allowed matters to prolong and told you so straightaway. Do stop wiggling about Holmes I am trying my hardest here, stay still, these ropes are dashed difficult."

"I say Watson, do you 'rather like' me? I had resigned myself to being tolerated awfully, 'the pick of a bad lot' as it were."

"Oh, what an odd thing to say, who else was there to choose?" The ropes started to spilt, but it was slow work.

"Well let us see, there is of course Lestrade, no he is quite taken by that wife of his, what is her name Daisy or is it Rose?"

I was relieved his humour was lightening our conversation, but also a little disappointed, the real issues between us may never be settled and that I would remain an emotional coward right to the end. "Really Holmes, you have a better memory than this, her name is Lily."

"Then there is Gregson, but he is rather the jealous type, I rather suspect he wants me all to himself and resents you."

"So you did notice he is quite besotted and I thought you were obstinately ignoring it. You know I once considered your brother; he has always been jolly rich and rather well connected, but there would always be the issue of fruitcake"

"Fruitcake?"

"Yes, inevitably I simply refuse to share; it is much more advantageous living with a fellow who needs to be reminded to feed than fighting over the pickings with a fellow connoisseur. But you are quite right, you were probably the best of them."

"Oh dear..."

"I am nearly through now."

"Unfortunately you made an error of judgement Jane, Mycroft hates fruitcake, he prefers a crumble or a hot pudding."

"How could one not like fruitcake, surely that is quite odd?"

"Dear-me, Mycroft has always been odd, I assumed you comprehended this 'fruitcakeness thingy instantly."

" 'Fruitcakeness thingy' Holmes, you are now talking absolute gibberish and not your standard stringent dictionary." I spared a concerned glance upwards at his nose and mouth to monitor the bleeding. "Dash-it I'm struggling with the last bit, I shall definitely have to swim the Thames again; I swear this river has a grudge against me. Almost... yes!... oh, oh, oh Holmes!" Once his hands had been freed he fell downwards and disappeared under the water. "Holmes... HOLMES!" I jumped down and began fishing again. "Bloody-hell Sherlock... Sherlock... HOLMES!"

He surfaced somewhere, "here, I am here, now get back on that chair NOW; or it will go over! Keep your weight on it move!"

"Sherlock."

"The chair!"

"I have it, I have it, well just. Could you please help hold it still, the water is so quick I am uncertain it can be mounted again."

"Hasten Jane, for gods-sake."

"Done, thank you."

"Here catch me, it will have to hold us both."

"How bad are you really?"

"Tolerable, grab those railings, your right hand."

"Got you, better for that dip in the cold water. I say, how long before we are done for?"

"The waters up to my calves, another eleven minutes at least."

"You do realise that you are constantly recalculating these times, this is not quite like you."

"You noticed? Now, are you ready? Brace yourself," he pulled himself up onto the chair, gripped the skylight and immediately started pushing at the bars. "Here Jane, stop pushing that end and put your arms to this railing. Now together... again, push!"

"I'm trying but I worry the chair may give way."

"Try harder!"

"It is far too heavy to shift. Please Holmes be careful, your nose is bleeding again."

"A broken nose, it... is... just... a ... broken ... nose."

"I said be careful!"

"Concentrate!"

"I am!"

"You are quite right, this is undeniably heavy and these arms are now rather useless."

"Dashed unfair! You do realise I've only just beaten the Thames, dashed unsporting of it to have a second go." Putting my also tired arms about his neck I rested my head on his shoulder, it did feel rather warm, but I definitely would have preferred a more romantic setting. "It is far too insurmountable, we have been horribly defeated."

"It would indeed need a horse to move this." His body seemed to slump though he pulled me closer, "you smell of lavender today Jane, though I prefer the rose water."

I shifted closer and tucked my head under his chin, the cold crept deeper inwards making me shiver violently. "I am surprised you can smell anything with that nose."

"I pride myself on my sense of smell."

"Is it all over Sherlock, are we now to just wait it out?"

"Well, where there is life there is also hope, however I do suggest we keep near the air. Hold one hand firm, that's it, your strength will keep us both going my girl. Remember those ten minutes and do try to keep your mouth to those railings even at the last second."

"I will."

"Good girl. Now look at me, it is essential we keep talking as it will keep our minds alert, focused and basically alive, understood? Good, now tell me something."

"..."

"Can you not think of anything to say? Watson, you normally speak insistently when given the free-reign."

I was too cold to think of anything so I shook my head.

"Well, I suppose I could start the conversation. Let me see, you know now would be an excellent time for clandestine confessions, unburden one's soul as it were, I am sure the awfulness and embarrassment of such revelations may help to take our minds off it all."

"You mean take our minds off a dashed 'awful' cold and miserable death?"

"Yes-well do try both metaphorically and literally to keep that chin up old-girl and play along nicely. Here hold me a little tighter will you, that shaking of yours has become quite fierce. Good, now where were we? Ah-yes, confessions, I am rather afraid I have one or two quite shocking ones." The water was getting higher and I felt my body begin to rise from the chair and float. "So I may as well start with my indecent rose water obsession."

"'Indecent r-rose water obsession'? That sounds rather scandalous, should I brace myself?"

"Yes rather; truth is old girl, I have been stealing various items of your wardrobe, especially ones that smell of rose water and then sleeping with them next to my pillow. I find the aroma comforting, particularly when combined with your, well your er-natural bodily odour. However, I do put them back before you miss them."

I laughed despite the sheer terror that was racing though me, "how long have you been at this then?"

"Since I returned, over a year now I think? You left that dammed shawl with me at Reichenbach and I used it afterwards as a headrest, then I rather got into the habit of needing a rose water presence." He laughed a little awkwardly, " you know I have been rather worried that Mrs. Hudson would discover a stocking or a skirt in my room and think all sorts, so I have become awfully good at getting them back before breakfast. You had better bring your head right up to the grid, brace yourself in that position." He looked past my shoulder, "I have become rather addicted to the smell of 'Watson,' you help me sleep."

"Then why not just have me instead of my clothes?"

"Jane Hillary Watson! I am not a fellow to be easily shocked, but I have just told you I took those items to bed!"

"Yet you started these dreadful confessions and it is true, I don't c-c-care a fig about being decent or married, you know how I feel about you an-and well there has been little to live on, no hand-holding or even a proper kissing. So one inevitably one has to resort to romantic imagination, I would have been j-jolly grateful for a b-b-bit of realism, no matter how vulgar. Dear god I wish I could s-s-stop this shivering, dashed cold, difficult to speak!" I looked at my trembling hands, "you are shocked, well now you know."

He smiled, the light filtering through the grid above highlighted the creases around his eyes and made what was left of the gray iris's flash with silver. "Gosh, to think of how more interesting those nights would have been with all of you instead of just a glove."

"You p-p-pinched my glove?"

"Yes, the right-hand one, that would have been Tuesday last, there were sparse pickings that day and a fellow has to take what he can get."

"Will you kiss me now, I doubt there will be another chance. It would help."

"Would it? You know I've never kissed a female properly before and I am not entirely sure how. I was rather hoping our first time would be at the wedding and then I could blame my ineptness on nerves or alcohol or the pea soup or something."

"No pe-p-pea soup at our wedding breakfast. I care little if Mycroft adores the stuff, we will serve asparagus an-and if that is not seasonal then leak." I suddenly realised what this discussion was actually about. "Been holding everything in reserve, far too much for nuptials," I felt the chair finally go from under my feet and shamelessly clamped my legs about his hips to keep us both afloat. I blushed, "sorry Holmes. Ought to have spread romance thinly, like best butter you know, instead of wedding-night pl-th-plethora."

"'Best butter', where do you conjure up these ludicrous similes from Jane? You do realise that my brilliant studies in criminology are often desecrated by these preposterous and often overly romantic metaphors, they make me suspect that your schooling entirely lacked any proper study of the classics."

I felt the strain of talking, closed my eyes and allowed my mind to drift with the water.

"Oh no you don't, come on old girl answer me. Answer me now!"

"Oh, w-what were we discussing?"

"The classics. Now you come out of it at once Jane Watson, straighten that back and answer me. I need you alert and gripping tightly, my arms are failing."

He was now part swimming and partly holding onto the grid for dear life, "Oh-oh yes, hated classics at school, used to smuggle the yellow-backs into our d-dorms." I looked up at him with some scepticism, "you interested in classical literature Mr. Sherlock 'attic brain' Holmes and why are you not dashed f-f-freezing?"

"We Holmes lot are all rather cold blooded bunch, remember? Mind-you there's quite a lot about myself I hid from you old girl, I was rather hopeful on revealing everything with time, like your spreading of butter, only on a larger piece of toast and over many enjoyable breakfasts."

"Ha, your use of that-that association thing, what did you call it?"

"Butter?"

"Not b-butter silly, literary comparison..."

"A 'metaphor?'"

"Far sillier than mine. Totally unfair, you speak it so dashed nicely it sounds rather wonderful." I laughed lightly at him, squeezing his shoulder; then quite suddenly I felt myself being pulled forward and watched as his face became much larger. The smell of cinnamon and tobacco was familiar, but now overpowering.

Then his mouth was over mine.

My first thought was his lips were surprisingly warm considering, but also rather soft and offered a strong metallic taste that was quite different than his smell. Then the uneasy feeling of this sudden intimacy invaded my conscious, clouding out all other considerations. This was a part of Holmes that was new to me, strange and exciting, but awkward too, after all I had known this man as a true friend for years. Tentatively I attempted to respond and for a moment we just moved our mouths together desperately trying to find a mutual rhythm, it was evident that neither of us was practised at this. Then quite quickly we lost our tempo, (I had hampered matters by delicately attempting to avoid his broken nose.) He pulled away and I braced myself for a rather embarrassing exchange; however he suddenly seemed fascinated with my hair and his mouth moved lightly upwards as he pressed a series of small kisses against my hairline. In search of heat my hand also moved involuntary upwards in response, pushing aside his ripped clothing. I forgot he was inadequately dressed, worse still I forgot he had multiple injuries, indeed I forgot we were both surrounded by the cold, malodorous water of the Thames and we would inevitably be drowned; as soon as my hand found bare flesh and wet hair I somewhat shamefully groaned and quite audibly. It was then that the whole movement of our interaction changed pace rather rapidly. He had also groaned in response and the sound triggered an instant welcome warmth that flushed though me despite the cold. His hands no longer lightly touched but dug into my sides, our mouths locked together but now with instinctive determination. This kiss was feverous; a probing hand moved upwards to my breasts and the other pulled me closer in exigency. His lips quickened as the kiss deepened, his tongue found mine and as my whole mouth wrestled with his in frustration and blessedly hot euphoria, I became acutely aware of an odd need to grind my hips against his and did so-"

"Oh for pity-sake, if you are both going to drown at least have some decency about it! And when you stop eating each other alive please give a fellow a hand, we could do with a little help up here."

We both quickly parted and looked upwards and out through the bars, a bright lamp was shining directly at us.

"What?"

"Ere Peterson, grab that end again and pull. One, two three..."

Holmes seemed to expect the sudden presence, but I was still totally shocked. He pushed himself upwards to the bars and shouted, "a horse, get a horse now! We only have five minutes."

"Right you are Mr. Holmes, now constable run sharpish back to the road and get us an horse, any orse and have it ere with its reins or a rope, we have two dammed fools to rescue, an you ave less than three minutes mind you."

"Aye sir."

"Well get a move on Peterson, we haven't got all day."

"Lestrade! Oh, ha-ha Toby too! Good old Toby... Toby-Toby do stop that. Where did you come from, am I dreaming this Sherlock?"

"Bloody all over London -pardon my language Miss. I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm glad we found you and Mr. Holmes. I've been following this mutt of yours for hours, though I didn't expect for him to lead us here, a bloody hole in the road."

"Was it just Toby or did my brother bring you here Inspector?"

"Both, a telegram from Mr. Mycroft Holmes arrived at twelve o'clock this morning, just as I was havin my sandwiches, then the dog appears five minutes later, both of them urging me away from my desk. How the devil did you get yourselves stuck down there? Blimey, these railings are rusted solid."

"Yes, I assume the river water will have corroded them, however I do believe they will shift with the aid of a stout horse, Toby no, not now- stop it. I had rather hoped that one life-line would deliver, but both is a triumph in strategy, though possibly too late."

"Yes that telegram read like a typical bloody Holmes cryptic message, couldn't fathom it at all, but it did mention you Miss and 'Toby' the dog, the queer thing is when the bugger turns up right at the sergeants desk, he's barking like he wants our attention. Peterson grabs hold of the leash and off he goes, nose to the floor all the way. This dogs a miracle he is, though he does what he pleases, no use in shewing him away sir, I think he just wants to lick your hands and by-god he's earned the right of it. Can you both push upwards on this thing, perhaps a joint effort may shift it?" The little inspector now had both hands on the metal bars and was grunting with the effort of pulling.

"No, we are both floating; Watson's arms are keeping us fixed- for now, mine are quite useless. Where is that horse inspector, we do need it rather quickly, I fear we may be losing our good nurse here."

"Are you alright Miss?"

"Shuuuush- you let me be, I am a wonderfully kissed women!" I was suddenly giggling rather uncontrollably.

"You're right, Peterson, Peterson! Oy constable, get a move-along will you!

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_**Again I have been 'shamed' into posting by an anonymous reviewer... I'm easily disgraced I know, but it cannot possibly be 4 months since I last posted? You must be mistaken Mr./Miss anonymous person who reviewed me last week?! (Truth is I actually thought the Miss Watson stories had died in here some time ago bless her.)**_

_**Excuse the rushed writing and all the sentimental bits in this post, but I rather felt these two characters need some 'sentimental bits.' I have treated them both deplorably by abandoning them like a sinking ship, they deserve something jolly and romantic in return! Oh but with that in mind and at this rate, if I treat them any worse (and that could very well happen considering my poor track record,) there could very well be full teeth and nails corset-ripping stuff soon YAY I hope so... :D**_

_**Also lots and lots and lots of thanks goes to Arty Diane, she did a Beta on this, so I will now feel confident about sending my misguided writings to a poor, unsuspecting world, odd spellings and all. Hopefully never again the raw typos of previous postings, (though I now REALISE we Brits do spell lots of things with a truly beautiful 's' letter as opposed to your wonderfully wicked American 'z' :D )**_

_**Bravehearttegan**_


	29. Precious Air

_**Time and Tide Part Nine**_

_**Precious Air**_

...

"God-almighty Peterson, what the devil is that?"

"An orse sir."

"A donkey more like. An not ad nosh for a month by the looks of im."

"I got wot I cud sir, like I was told."

"Alright m'boy, get im ere."

There was much cursing and I could see leather straps being knotted about the iron bars above us.

"That's not quite secure Lestrade, fasten it further."

"Christ mister Olmes, we are trying to shift the bloody grid, not tyin pretty bows for you to admire. Ere hold-up Constable, is lordship wants another knot."

"Holmes," the water was now covering my face."

"Yes Jane I know, remember push your mouth right up and try to hold on tight old girl, my arms are useless and I'm rather afraid I am about to go."

I forced my mouth firmly against the iron bars and gasped for air, but the water was now starting to bubble out and upwards, "H-Holm-"

""Bloody-ell we're losing em, shift that nag an smarter lad!"

"Es not got the blow sir."

The water was now over my head, but it was not the deathly calm blackness that had embraced me previously, this was a rushing mass of bubbles, shooting past me and cascading. Nonetheless I now waited silently. I knew what would eventually ensue; the building of pressure, the need for release and the burning in my lungs. This time I would accept it with good grace.

Suddenly his mouth found mine again; but now there was no passion, only a small amount of precious air.

...

"Miss Watson... Miss Watson!"

There was rough stone against my legs and my arms were pulling away from me. I was definitely moving forward.

"Wake-up Miss!"

_I am trying, but it's dashed difficult to breath, water in my lungs, it will need removing and quickly._

I waited until the coughing stopped and I was able to articulate, "water... lungs..."

"Oye Peterson, leave im and get over ere now!"

"But sir Mr Holmes-"

"Now Constable!"

_This time my whole chest is burning._

"Right, push er over; arms up, no up lad over er ed, come on Miss...come on... that's it... little more, com-on out with it."

"A-a-a-a-agugh..."

"Spit it out."

_God-almighty, I'm vomiting fire._

_..._

"Someone get a hold of that there dog before he scarpers."

"Hummm."

"You alright Miss?"

"Humm-who?"

"It's Constable Peterson, sorry to trouble you Miss, but we need to get you in the carriage. I'll ave to carry you, if that is acceptable.

"Holmes?"

"Lord bless us, you're ardly heavier than a goose feather, Mr Holmes took two to shift im."

"Holmes?"

"He's in the carriage Miss, none too good if you ask me-"

"Less of that Peterson, just get er in."

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.

.

_**I ****_will _not be held responsible for 'Time and Tide', it just refuses to behave as a story and won't seem to finish!**_

_**Thanks go as always to Arty Diane who gives me the extra courage to post in here.**_

_**Tegan :D**_


	30. The Three Wise Men

_**Time and Tide Part**_

_**Part Ten**_

...

"I wish to see him."

"Come now Jane, you are certainly in no fit state-"

"Nonetheless, that is my desire. We are betrothed and I do have a right-"

"You have no rights nurse!" He firmly closed the door, "the wellbeing of patients is my top priority and we both know hospital procedure is quite explicit on visiting hours. Indeed in such cases as these my direct course of action is unequivocal; a Doctor must take his decision based on initial examination. Now Miss Watson, sit still while I examine you."

"But Doctor!"

"Sit now!"

"I will not."

"Then you and your precious detective will be parted for some time."

"Nonsense, I shall dam-well discharge myself."

He moved to the solitary chair next to my bed, sat and addressed his feet, "I am unhappy with the patient, she is argumentative and uncomprehending, demonstrating signs of agitation and high levels of hysteria, she is in no fit state to leave her bed. The hysterics have perhaps been brought about by a fever of the mind and are in my opinion endangering her health; therefore I see no alternative but to call for the porters to restrain her."

"You would not dare!"

He looked sharply upwards; his pale blue eyes and open face were unusually determined and the ashen blonde hair loosened as he shook his head, "I shall bloody-well do as I see fit Nurse."

Dr Morstan's one major weakness was his romantic heart, so resorting to the subservient and adding a dash of 'damsel in distress' I pleaded, "Please Malcolm, I beg of you. I promise to return straight here once I have satisfied myself of his wellbeing." Then I knelt beside him for good measure.

"No, this is not you Jane, you are behaving like some-some besotted adolescent, he has done this to you! He has reduced you to this," a dismissive hand swept in my direction, "good-god women get up and control yourself, you are a female with some intellect!"

I had miscalculated, womanly 'pleading' appeared to be ineffective, so I forced myself back upwards and reconsidered my tactics. "So, you are refusing to discharge me because of my relationship with Mr Holmes?"

"No, not until I have assured myself you are robust and healthy."

"Then do so quickly. What do you desire as proof?"

"Jane, we both know that in medical terms, your war injuries class you as neither robust nor healthy at the best of times, therefore this examination is doomed to failure. Normally I would show you the door like any other ungrateful patient, but it seems you have some worth in these halls, so to release you I must be prepared to take a risk. In this case I certainly do not consider your great detective worth it."

I shook my head, "you are being unduly rotten."

"And why not eh? You would be far better here, in my care, quite safe and sound. That great detective of yours has provided you nothing but an escalating assortment of injuries, heartache and infirmity. He almost got you dammed tonight and that's twice in as many months, let alone the countless times he has placed you in unnecessary danger. Oh and let us not forget those three years of misery when he vanished. Dash-it, you wandered about the place like a ghost, only half alive and a shadow of your former self."

"That is not fair."

"But the truth none-the -less."

"Malcolm-"

"No, I battled to pull you out of that particular illness and would like to think I eventually made you rather happy. For god's sake I do read those rags you know and like everyone else, it is dashed embarrassing to be labelled by colleagues as 'Mary' or 'a Watson wife'. I accepted that, but it gave me hope and I do believe we had a dammed decent chance until your Great Detective came back from the dead."

"I wish you would cease calling him that, his name is Sherlock Holmes."

"No Jane, the Sherlock Holmes I read in _The Strand_ is a half decent chap; your detective is merely a cad and a thoroughly bad sort at that. He uses people and then discards them and in your case in the Thames, but far too often for my liking. You fancy him the hero in your stories, how laughable that is." He ventured to look at me directly again, "why do you allow yourself to be treated so shoddily?"

"He did not use me; I chose to involve myself in tonight's adventure."

"'Adventure!' This is certainly not an adventure, nor is it one of your ripping yarns and its dam-well not even remotely amusing either. Associating with that man is dangerous, it is killing you." He raised his finger and shook it in my direction, "you have extraordinarily intelligence for a woman, yet despite this gift you have chosen to shackle yourself to that man. Why chose the company of that-that-that preposterous looking, rude, arrogant, self-centred monster?"

I picked at the coarse cotton on the sleeve of my hospital nightgown, "because I rather love him and he is not so bad honestly; he is really dreadfully good deep down. I do comprehend he is not quite husband material; indeed I did try terribly hard to stop myself, but there was just nothing to be done about it."

Oooo000000000OOOOOOoooooooooooO

"Was that my hand you were just holding Inspector?"

"You awake then, as you well know Miss, I was just checking on that heart-beat thingy, like you once said yourself."."

"Thank you", I moved to get a good look at him, "I say, you do look rather dreadful yourself."

"I am in good company Miss."

"I do wish you would just call me Jane. You know, I have a jolly good excuse-."

"Well, some of us ave been awake right through the night miss-err Jane. You know I sat by Mr Holmes until they said he was over the worst, then he started snoring, so ere I am."

"I'm flattered; is he really well?"

"Well, not so much well as... well not quite dead."

I pulled myself further upwards in the bed, "that does not sound good at all, give me some better news."

"Wish I could. Now listen ere, you rest, none of that fussing."

"But you are not helping Inspector."

"I have the abit of telling the truth, he tells me it's a weakness. I could go?"

" I should be grateful that you are still here, but you have a wife and children. "

"Arh, the missus, she'll ave my hide for sure-."

"So why-"

"I shoud ave saved im sooner Miss-Jane! When we pulled you both out I was olding you, then you started breathing all badly, I ad us both get the water from you. Didn't ear Mr Olmes dying, im being all silent about it an all. Then, after we got you alright it took us both ages to get him to breathe again and get his heart agoing, god only knows what has happened to that brain of is. I should ave done it all better Miss."

"Nonsense Inspector, you did what you thought best and that's that."

"Aye, an Mr Holmes would tell you that it wasn't gud enough and that's a fact. I sometimes feel like the bloody bumbling fool e thinks I am and you ave me down in _The Stand_."

"I am sorry Inspector."

"It's Gregory ."

"Gregory."

He held out his hand to shake mine, "Jane."

We both smiled despite the sombre mood.

"Now Gregory ... can you possibly watch that door while I nip out?..."

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"Hello."

"Humm."

"You look quite awful you know."

"Hummm."

"Your notes are frightfully dire too; I've been jolly-well concerned."

The second his brain eventually woke a single bloodshot eye shot open, scanned the room until it found me and then slowly began assessing, eventually narrowing to a slit.

"You have an inflammation in your left eye; they are worried about infection so it has a dressing. Oh, and they put your nose back all wrong, now it has a bit of a hook to it. I approve, it makes you appear more like my stories," I gently stroked his nose with my finger, "but sadly even less like those Padget illustrations."

"Hum?"

"Stop that ! Poking it will only make it worse. Here-" I captured his hand in mine and held it to my cheek, "do try to rest."

The single eye enlarged lifting his eyebrow and a look of weary amusement crept across his face, "anu?"

"What?"

"You?"

"Oh me, apparently they are worried about my chest and have kept me confined to bed for the next three days."

The eye darted to the chair on which I sat.

"You needn't look so sniffy, it was only inevitable that I escaped. I jolly-well abhor a sickbed, you know that, besides they actually attempted to keep me from you and I see that as a challenge!" His hand tugged away from mine and moved to my lips. "I know the staffing routine and the geography of the place, I also know where they keep the spare set of keys to the wards," I held the keys dangling from my other bandaged hand. "They have me in a private room, so I waited until they returned my things, sneaked to the stores during supper and bagged some pillows, which I then stuffed under the blankets; no-one will ever suspect I am gone." I was rather proud of myself, however the eye darted to the far end of the room, "oh don't worry, I rather doubt they will check on you this far down the ward for at least another two hours, the night staff here are always quite dreadful, we often complain about the state of the gentlemen's wards in the mornings."

He shook his head and I felt his fingers slip across to my left eye, "you?"

"I am in good health, honestly. "

He brushed away a little wetness, "tears?"

I pulled on his cotton sheets to dab my eyes, "I know, I am usually more composed than this and it is dreadfully unhygienic to be using your bedding so shamelessly." Smoothing down those sheets as a distraction I quickly added, "well, the Thames seems to have caused a slight infection to my eyes too, I shall mention it to the doctor."

"Good old Watson."

"Less of the old," I reached forward and kissed his forehead, the touch of my lips was too quick and too sharp; it only left me with a sudden hollowness deep inside. The fact that his eye looked rather keenly at my mouth left me with the impression that he too was equally disenchanted, though he would never admit to such. Unfortunately Matron Kelly would have me officially ostracised for spreading germs with even this gesture, let alone anything more intimate. The fact that she was not present on this ward was irrelevant, such an absolute dragon had a presence that lingers unseen.

_(Of course the real truth lay between us; denying ourselves for far too long had only left us both starving and hungry. We needed more yet were familiar with less.)_

"Detest hospitals."

"Nonsense Holmes, I am forever telling you how pioneering hospitals can be, they save lives every day." Then, biting my bottom lip I considered, "but they do rather like me in here and for some odd reason they dislike you, not that personal estimations will affect the care given to a patient and of course the whole of London knows Sherlock Holmes is here." (His eye caught my teeth and lip,) "I believe Matron Kelly has had to ban the reporters, they say she was waving an umbrella at them."

His whole face seemed to contract inwards, narrowing in concentration until I could almost hear that great brain calculating above it, then it relaxed and a crooked smile softened his severe features.

"Holmes?"

He cleared his throat and whispered very slowly, "do you all keep spare uniforms here?"

"Yes, we have to look clean constantly; it reassures the patients and of course is hygienic." I began to rattle-off a familiar grievance, "however those very patients insist on bleeding, vomiting or dying and most unreasonably as things often get rather messy."

He took another deep breath, "Good ... I will need two nursing uniforms and a chair with wheels."

"Holmes! What the devil...?"

Ooooooooooo000000000000000000000OOOOOOOOOOOOO000000000oooooooooo

_**Yay... it's completed! **_

_**I cannot apologise enough for my shoddy treatment of the people who follow these adventures, I deserve to be 'ostracised' myself! Though please have pity on me and do leave feedback, as I often need goading. **_

_**As always, thank you to my wonderful beta Arty Diane.**_

_**Oh, and why Holmes would ask for two nursing uniforms bewilders me, so please don't ask **_

_**Bravehearttegan.**_


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